


An Hour of Enternity

by internetname



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 05:04:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 67,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2455814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internetname/pseuds/internetname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picard and Q are placed in an unusual situation that forces them to confront themselves and their feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Hour of Enternity

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this years ago under the name Veroneeka. I need to thank the incredible patience and kindness and general wonderfulness of Ruth Gifford, the beta-reader from Heaven.

Self-destruct in ten seconds," the computer informed them. "Nine...eight...seven..." 

"Transportation complete," LaForge's voice assured Captain Picard, though that voice was shaking slightly. "Beaming you up now..." 

Jean-Luc centered himself, seeing the spots and shimmers which meant the transporter had him. 

"...six...five...four..." 

"Captain!" Picard heard through the distortion of his atoms being disassembled. "We're losing the lock...hang on! We're..." 

"...three...two..." 

"...Captain!" 

"...one..." 

There was a sudden, terrible noise. 

There was a sudden, terrible silence. 

 

You want fries with that?" 

"No, damnit! I don't want fries and I don't want your Coke. Just give me the burgers!" 

"That's $5.67. Please pull up." 

There was some sort of rumbling to accompany the distorted and angry voices. He smelled something burning and animal dung, and he was covered in sweat. His face was pressed into dirt. He hurt all over, especially when he tried to move. 

The rumbling increased, then moved away, to be replaced by a differently pitched rumbling. 

"Welcome to Burger King," the distorted voice announced. "May I have your order?" 

"I want two Junior Whoppers with Cheese, and three Junior Whoppers with Cheese, no onions," a woman's voice called. 

"The Junior Whopper doesn't come with onions." 

"You mean I can't get onions on those whoppers?" 

"No, ma'am. You can, you just have to ask for them." 

"So...what are you...Okay, give me three Junior Whoppers with Cheese, and then three more with onions, okay?" 

"You want fries with that?" 

"This is hell. I've followed you into hell." 

Picard finally woke up completely with this new, familiar voice, and raised his aching head from the damp earth. 

"Yeah, give me four large fries," the woman's voice said. "One Diet Coke, two Sprites, and three Cokes." 

"Large sizes on those drinks?" 

"You all right, Jean-Luc?" 

The captain finally worked his eyes open, and could see that he was lying under some sort of greenery, half-buried in dark dirt. A white cup and some crumpled paper sheets that stank of grease lay to his right, and he finally identified those rumbling noises as engines. 

It wasn't until the dark shape right in front of him moved that Picard could focus on it. He realized it was creeping towards him. 

"Talk to me here so I know there's no brain damage...or are you just overcome with joy?" 

"Q?" he managed to gasp. "Where are we?" 

"Home of the Whopper, Jean-Luc." 

"That will be $10.95," the garbled voice shouted. "Please pull up." 

The engine roared, and another took its place. 

Dizziness pushed through the captain's body, and with a smothered groan his head fell into his soil-covered hands. A memory came to him, as nauseating as the present: he had been between something, suspended, falling from something, and there had been so much pain. He'd thought he was dying, caught in the explosion of the Klingon bird of prey, last to evacuate the site of the clandestine meeting after the warp core had begun to breach, taking the place of the dead Klingon captain. And in that no-place he had shouted instinctively for help, pulling desperately against the undertow which led...here. 

"Welcome to Burger King. Can I have your order?" 

"Two Big Macs, large fries, and two small Cokes." 

"We have Whoppers, not Big Macs." 

"Whatever. And no pickles on one of them." 

There was a hand on his shoulder, and it occurred to him that the stink of exhaust fumes, feces, and garbage was aiding his dizziness. He wanted to sit up and breathe something clean. He realized he was fiercely thirsty. 

"Q," he croaked out, "wherever this is you've taken us, get us out of here." 

"You did the taking, this time, Picard. And if I could get us out of here, believe me, we'd be gone." 

There was pain in Q's voice. Genuine pain. It made Picard say something he thought he would never say: 

"Are you all right, Q?" 

"It all depends on your definition, Picard. I don't know yet what universe you've dragged us into. I suspect it's not a good one, though." 

"That will be $6.78. Please pull up." 

It took everything Picard had in him to sit up, flinching as the wet leaves slicked over his head, leaving trails. He heard Q muttering and saw the entity sitting up as well. Both of them were filthy. 

They were sitting in some sort of small island of greenery beside a white slab of concrete. Automobiles -- Picard hazarded they were of the type produced on Earth around the turn of the millennium -- were lined up along the concrete, and then on the other side of them was a red building bearing a sign: "Burger Home of the Whopper King." 

"We're in the past, on Earth," he grunted. 

"We're not in the past, the universe is," Q grunted back. 

"Either way, we need to get out of this shrubbery." 

"If you're feeling ready to stand up yet, be my guest." 

A very large man in tan shorts walked past them, a large and panting dog going before him on a leash. Neither looked at the two male figures in the brush. 

"Good," Q snorted when the man and his pet were out of earshot. "We're in a big city." 

"Any idea which one?" 

Q looked around, but could see as little as Picard could. Then his eyes narrowed, staring at a car as it passed. 

"'Louisiana,'" he read on the plate. "And so is that one." Q looked suddenly just a little happier. "Could be New Orleans." 

"Would that help us?" 

Q shrugged. "Well, it's a lot more fun than the rest of Louisiana at this time. It might even be Mardi Gras season." 

"Q," Jean-Luc snapped, "this is no time for your usual foolishness." 

"This from a man sitting in a pile of dog pooh?" 

"Fish sandwich, and I want onions on it," a woman screamed from her car, looking into a large plastic display. "And a Pepsi." 

"Coke okay?" the display asked. 

Picard got his feet under him and stood up. Dirt and other debris fell from him in a shower, and the woman in her car gave him a dirty look before she was told the price of her order and asked to move forward. With severe distaste he began to brush at his uniform. He had not, he realized with some relief, actually been sitting in excrement, but he desperately needed a shower. 

Groaning loudly, Q stood up as well, and he and his uniform proved to be in an equally bad state. Only as Picard was registering this did he realize that procuring a shower wouldn't be easy. In this place -- New Orleans or elsewhere -- he and Q would need money to get things. 

"I don't suppose you have any currency on you," Picard remarked, trying to indicate with his hand that Q had missed brushing off a small red-stained, white, and shiny envelope from where it had stuck to his right sleeve. 

"If I'd known where we were going I would have packed a money-belt, or better yet, a gold card, but as you can see I was quite unprepared for how far off the mark you were going to get." 

Picard finally just reached out and removed the foil packet, letting it drop to the ground. Q watched him, and then together they stepped out of the dirt onto the concrete. 

"Q..." the man began, but his companion was looking at the red building. 

"I bet they have a restroom we can use," Q said, walking towards the glass doors. "Try to look like a customer." 

One of Picard's favorite instructors at the Academy had been Admiral Maitland Watters. From her, he had gleaned his first true insights into what it meant to command others. He'd learned from her lectures and class discussions of the importance of listening, of accepting others' suggestions and points of view, of valuing the people who served with him, and remembering at all times that they were individuals with their own minds who chose to follow orders. 

A strong commander, Watters had said often, had to know those moments when one should not command. "A good leader has to know when to follow," she would insist, meeting her students' eyes firmly. As much as he'd valued the information at the time, his years of experience in the captain's chair had shown him a depth of truth to that simple guideline to make him cherish it all the more. 

And so Picard followed Q now, weaving through the line of cars, walking quietly through the glass doors, turning left down a short hallway to a door marked with a little stick-figure which Q pushed open to reveal bright yellow tile, four yellow-painted stalls, two urinals, and two sinks recessed into a white counter. 

Q was looking only at the mirror, however, and scowling at the dirt on his face, his unkempt hair, and his stained clothing. With a sigh, he pushed up his sleeves and turned on the water before jabbing several times at what Picard realized was supposed to be a soap dispenser. Grunting in irritation, Q moved to the second dispenser, which actually produced soap, and then washed his hands and forearms, then his face. 

Somewhere in all this Picard moved to the other sink and washed up as best he could as well, using the brown paper towels on his uniform's stains and his shoes, removing all the dirt he could from his skin. He also took the opportunity to drink several handfuls of water, and noticed Q did the same. It was difficult not to obsess over the thought of Q's needing water. 

A young man in the 20th Century uniform of jeans and T-shirt came in at one point, used the urinal, and left without looking at them or washing his hands. 

"Anything on my back?" Q asked, turning so that Picard could see. 

"No." 

"Well, you've got something," Q muttered, going after a spot on Picard's left shoulder with a damp towel. The captain stood there quietly until Q got a second towel and scrubbed harder, frowning, and he couldn't stand it anymore. 

"Since when are you so domestic, Q?" 

Q shrugged, took a few last swipes at the whatever-it-was, and then tossed the towel in the bin. "After my experience in mortal ineptitude, I studied up on basic Human functions and needs." Dark brown eyes met hazel in the mirror. "It didn't take long." 

Jean-Luc didn't quite keep the smile off his lips. "Of course it didn't." He turned, crossing his arms and leaning one hip against the counter. "So, the transporter beam broke up due to the same spatial distortion that caused the core to breach. I was pulled into the disturbance, which removed me from my own universe. Correct so far?" 

"Quite." Q's eyes glittered slightly with a challenge. Picard felt his shoulders settling back, his chin coming up just slightly. 

"When I felt myself being pulled away from the beam, I tried to call for assistance. It was a general distress call, but I take it...you heard me? 

Q nodded, but Picard's own eyes returned his earlier challenge, and the entity smiled somewhat ruefully. 

"For a bunch of mortals who haven't even mastered transwarp drive, you and your little crew sure know how to find trouble. That was no mere spatial anomaly you stumbled into. It's literally a conduit, a sort of intra-universe wormhole doubtlessly created by the collapse of an unstable proto-universe that was breaking temporal synch with your universe --" 

"Doubtlessly." 

"And when you entered into it, you were without space or time, falling through the wormhole. As loudly as you called for help, I barely heard you, and when I reached you, we were both subject to the random direction of the forces at work." 

Picard shook his head. "You're going to have to do better than that. You're almost omnipotent. How could a wormhole render you helpless?" 

"I wasn't helpless! But I was and am without my powers, as I suppose you've managed to work out." Q raised a hand. "As for how, well, the Q draw their power from the universe, Jean-Luc, at least, they do in our universe. There are no absolute constants, you know...at least --" 

"Not in our universe." 

Q made an expression of half-exasperation, half-acknowledgement. "When I left ours behind, my powers stayed there. I'm 100% Human right now, and I'll have to stay this way until we make it back." 

"You say that with surprising calm, considering your state the last time this happened." 

Q shrugged. "My enemies are back in our own universe as well. Here I can enjoy the anonymity of Human insignificance." 

Picard nodded absently. "Then...you believe we can make it back?" 

Q opened his mouth, closed it, firmed it, and took a breath. "I'm sure we can, though, it won't be a matter of snapping my fingers." 

Picard heard the almost-apology behind Q's words and felt a fleeting annoyance that the entity evidently believed him to be that shallow. 

"You're risking a lot to help me out of this, Q," he said evenly. "Thank you." 

Q gave him the same look of surprise he'd once offered while wearing his judge's robes, accepting a different expression of Picard's gratitude. 

"Well, I couldn't just let you go off on your own and break something Crusher couldn't fix." 

Q's eyes were plainly hiding something. But Picard let it go for now, focusing on more immediate concerns. 

"We need to find out where and when we are. We also need money." 

"Shelter, food, something snazzy to wear..." 

Picard didn't smile. "We have the gold in our communicators -- assuming yours is real. But I don't want to part with them for obvious reasons." 

"Oh, I think we can avoid the pawn shops for now. If this is New Orleans, they'll be ways for us to make some cash pretty quickly." Q's eyes sparkled and looked him over. "Especially you." 

"What is that supposed to mean?" Picard demanded just as a father and his two sons entered the restroom. 

"Excuse me," the father said, and Picard nodded at him politely, murmuring, as he and Q moved on outside again. There, they both looked around, taking in the small grouping of stores across the street, the largest of which evidently sold green interior decorations, until Q spotted a large blue metal box and moved towards it. Together, they reached the front of the box, and saw a newspaper inside, bearing the header _The Times-Picayune_. 

"New Orleans," Q said with satisfaction. 

"'Picayune?'" Picard murmured. "That means 'a little thing.' Strange name for a newspaper." 

"Ah, Jean-Luc, this city has a sense of humor about itself. It's also one of the country's murder capitals, rife with corruption, and I think it's about this time in history that it sported the most fat people per capita." 

Picard looked at him in some surprise. "You're a regular guidebook, Q." 

The entity shrugged coyly. "I've been here before, though not in this universe, obviously, and it was about twenty years ago, relatively speaking. I kept an eye on it...until the war, when it became very dull, as you know." 

The captain looked again at the date. October 3, 1999. 

"How different could the history of this universe be from our own?" he wondered aloud. 

"Very different," Q said, looking around again. "But it looks pretty much on target so far. Hm. If that's the levy," he pointed to their left, "and this is Carrolton Avenue, then we want to go right." 

"What's to the right?" he asked even as he fell into step beside Q, continuing to look around them with open interest. He reminded himself that he wouldn't have to worry about preserving the timeline -- though he would still try to avoid disrupting this universe's history as a matter of course. _Anything at all might be different. Not even Q knows what's here._ He smiled to himself. The thought was surprisingly intriguing. 

"You're gawking like a tourist, Jean-Luc," Q noted. 

"You worried we'll get our pockets picked?" 

Q looked thoughtful. "Well, they might come after our organs." 

"What?" 

"There were many rumors circulating at the time about organ harvesters...but I'll tell you what, I'll keep an eye on your mechanical pump if you'll watch over my favorite organ." 

"I'm not going to ask what that is." 

"Oh, why not?" 

"Are we headed to some sort of homeless shelter?" 

"You wound me! We're heading to the Fairgrounds, where we're going to take advantage of marketing techniques and make a bet with one of their little 'tourist chits.'" 

They stopped at the light on Oak Street. Picard noted the Rite Aid pharmacy, the Whitney Bank, and something called "Kinko's." 

"It's just a copy shop," Q snorted in disdain and as he gestured towards the sign. "Later we'll walk down Bourbon Street." 

"I hardly think we should waste time on sight-seeing." 

They started walking again, and when Q spoke up, that distinctly sincere tone had entered into his voice, the one Picard had grudgingly learned to trust. 

"Jean-Luc, this isn't going to be some in-and-out lark here. We're stuck in a universe that could be aligned in any configuration with our own. No one, not even my fellow Q, has any idea where we are. We have no money, no resources, no back-up, and not even the assurance that scientific laws work here the same way they do in our world. This is going to take some time." 

Picard felt the enormity of their problem settle around him. He thought of the Enterprise, of his crew waiting for him...getting on with their lives without him when he didn't return. He thought of Beverly and Will, Data and... 

"Q, is time moving forward in our universe?" 

The entity shrugged, crossing the street with a quick look both ways. "Doesn't matter. When we get home, I'm going to return us to the second we left -- believe me, it's in my best interests as well." 

Picard only nodded, thinking of all they didn't have: identification papers, a place to sleep that night, something to eat. He was starving, and thirsty once again, but even as he dwelled on this a slight breeze swirled around them, bringing with it the perfume of sweet olive and magnolia. Picard breathed it in with relief: this universe's first pleasant sensation. 

The walk to the Fairgrounds was several miles, and it was well into the afternoon before they reached their goal, which turned out to be a horse track, newly renovated by the look of things. There wasn't much of a crowd, but what there was was quite diverse. Picard saw suits and T-shirts, slinky dresses and raggedy shorts. 

"Q, do our uniforms look like anything in particular to these people?" 

"Jogging outfits, probably." Q walked up to the Welcome to New Orleans window and began a spiel about being from Montana and missing the speed limit. Picard tried to look as though he knew what that meant, chuckling along with the Fairgrounds employee. 

"Are you from out of town too?" she asked Picard, holding up a reel of tickets. 

"Oh yes. From quite some distance, I'm afraid." 

The woman smiled at him -- at his accent, he realized -- and handed both him and Q a ticket, on which he read, "Good for $2 Win." Q meanwhile took up a free racing form and began scanning the tight lines of text as they moved away from the window. 

"There are four races left," he muttered. "Hm...OK. People have to bet to win with these tickets, but that won't be a problem for the next race. Then we'll bet the next one to show. The odds are pretty good, and it should win -- but it might not. And then in the last two races we can bet to win. This horse, number three, should kill the competition in the last race, and the odds are lovely." 

"And if this doesn't work?" 

Q looked at him. 

"It is called 'gambling' for a reason, Q." 

"Then we'll sleep in a shelter tonight and try again tomorrow...unless you have a better idea." 

Picard was surprised that they didn't need any identification to place a wager, but less than surprised to watch all the horses Q picked cross the finish line first. When they were done, they had $275.45. With part of it, they had purchased several Pepsis and some beans and rice. Picard found that the combination of sugar, carbohydrates, protein and caffeine made him feel quite Human again, and, judging by the renewed energy of his companion, it helped Q out as well. 

"We need a cheap hotel," Q said as they walked out of the Fairgrounds, "which means going downtown." 

"Think our expenses can cover some sort of transportation?" Picard asked, feeling surprisingly mellow with his stomach full. 

"The bus, then the streetcar," Q mused. "Then someplace not too scuzzy." 

Picard nodded. His feet were tired. "We're going to need someplace permanent to stay. I'm sure this is going to involve making a great deal of equipment, and we'll need to purchase supplies." 

"One thing at a time, Mon Capitaine. You know, it's a shame I don't have much of a singing voice in this form. Street performers are quite popular in this town." 

"You could paint yourself up and get trapped in an invisible box." 

"Death before mime, mon ami." 

"Q, it really is...extraordinary, your coming along with me like this." 

"Well, if I'd had a bit more warning, I could have kept you from slipping out in the first place. That was what I was trying for. My fault for getting trapped, really." 

"But there must have been a moment when you could have left me to my fate and saved yourself." 

They were waiting at the bus stop now, and Q met his eyes briefly, looking uncomfortable. "It occurred to me that I had never done something like this before. That's quite an opportunity for a Q, Jean-Luc. Don't worry about it. When we get back, I'll be the talk of the Continuum." 

Picard grunted, distracted by the thought of how much longer he'd now spent with Q at one time than he ever had before. Even their time in Shuttlecraft Six was shorter now than this. How odd it was to be with Q and not have to wonder what second he was going to choose to snap out in a flash. It felt oddly companionable. On the other hand, he was more than a little concerned that being stuck together like this was going to prove that they actually couldn't stand each other's company. 

The bus picked them up and then got to the corner of Carrolton and Claiborne without incident. From there they picked up the streetcar, riding it almost to the end of the line. The hour off his feet only served to make Picard feel how tired he was, and both of them were close to staggering when Q suddenly perked up and got off at St. Charles and Julia, walking with determination to the Hummingbird Hotel and Grill, where double occupancy rooms with a private bath were $30 a night. 

They walked up the stairs to the thick window behind which a snaggle-toothed man holding a Diet Barq's rented them a room and passed them some towels. Vaguely, Picard realized Q was getting them one bed, but he didn't care. He was in serious danger of falling over and sleeping in the hall, and the idea was to save all the money they could. Besides, Q had certainly been in his bed before. 

"They got a place down the street," the hotel employee burbled at them, giving Picard a look he hoped didn't mean what it seemed to, "rents by the hour." 

Q grabbed up the key with a saccharine smile. "Has anyone ever told you about the joys of following the Lord?" 

The man scowled at them and backed up a step. Q feigned disappointment as Picard kept his face impassive and followed Q down the hall, semi-white towels in his hands. On the way, they passed a pay-phone, and the captain felt foolishly pleased with himself for recognizing it, and for realizing he had the means now to make it work. As exhausted as he was, he was beginning to feel a bit more centered, more connected to this world, feeling less and less the need to follow Q on every little thing. 

So when his companion opened the door to their shabby, but not filthy room, he walked in with some assuredness and took the towels into the tiny bathroom. He looked into the mirror, and the yellow light showed off every deep line on his face. 

"I feel a hundred years old," he murmured. 

"Well, if it makes you feel better," Q called from the bedroom, "I feel five billion years old." The sound of Q's yawn indicated a full-body effect. "We are going right to sleep after a shower, aren't we?" 

"I am." Picard turned with a frown and walked out. "I thought you hated sleep." 

"I do. But right now it's better than trying to stay awake." 

Q bent over and took off his shoes, then shrugged his way out of the uniform on the way to the bathroom, clad only in his briefs and socks when he reached the door. "I'll be quick." Within one minute, Picard heard the shower, and when Q came out in just his briefs, Picard had Q's clothes in his hands. 

"I'm going to wash these out in the shower," he explained, smothering a yawn. 

Q nodded through a look of surprise and started towards the bed. 

When Picard emerged from the now-steamy room in his briefs, Q was in bed. The air-conditioner was clacking away, though Picard could feel that Q had set it on the fan only. He clicked off the light and got into the bed himself, falling asleep almost instantly. 

Q managed to wrestle himself into sleep not long after, but found no rest. Something was wrong below him, where his feet should find purchase, and when he stepped forward, gravity snatched at him. He jerked himself awake, his breathing like a cold fist, and the blood in his ears roared like the polluted ocean not far away from the hotel. 

He rose from the bed and padded into the tiny bathroom, sitting on the cold lid of the toilet to stare into the dark. 

_Breathe. Not so fast. Just breathe. How often have you practiced this? Can't you make it through one night without falling to pieces? Some impressive omnipotent magnificence you are, can't even go a little while without your precious powers. You're just like you were the first time, cowering on his ship while the Calamarain almost killed everyone and Guinan had a field day dancing on me while I was down. I can't believe I didn't rip off that stupid hat of hers and stuff it down her lying throat._

_Yes, that's better. Get the heart-rate down now. This really isn't all that different from showing up, just like you planned...although this isn't France and he hasn't retired yet, and he's still not sure you're not the biggest pain in the ass he's ever met. Oh, Mon Capitaine, how did you do this to me? How did I do it to myself without common sense kicking in? But how did I have a chance when I was hearing about Quentin Jones, ruler of the seas?_

_I should have been able to pull us out. We shouldn't be in this universe. Are there really no Q here? I keep calling...._

_We should be in his ready room now, him looking dignified while he tries to figure out if I really deserve thanking, and me invading his space a little, getting him to notice me, seeing if I can get that little nudge from his instincts that sometimes happens when I'm around. That nudge, so ephemeral, and yet for that nudge alone, how much time have I spent (a mortal concept) practicing at being Human? I wanted to offer him his youth again, his health, another chance to explore the universe, with me as a companion who seemed so Human, so much like someone he could really understand and trust that eventually that nudge would become a push, and shove him into my arms._

_And now look at me. Absolutely useless. Unable to make it through the night without wanting to...what do I want to do to him? Joining with his mind and spirit are out for now. Have I really been reduced to nothing but sexual needs? That was really never so much a part of it before, though it was a part, no question..._

_What do I do? Stay in here until morning? If I stay here long enough I suppose I'll die on the toilet, like Elvis._

"Q?" Picard called softly through the door, having woken up to an empty bed. "Are you all right?" 

There was only silence for a minute, then the door opened, and they looked at each other in the illumination from the street lights. "Sorry to wake you," Q said quietly. 

"What is it?" 

Q sighed, and leaned against the doorframe. "When I slept before, I didn't dream." 

Picard remembered with guilt the way he had brushed aside Q's concerns before, when he had been made mortal and abandoned on the Enterprise. He had tried since then to think of how it would be to sleep and dream when one was used to being conscious all the time. 

"Dreams can be disturbing," he said, wishing Troi were there, "but they should fade as you awaken." 

"They did," Q complained. "That makes it worse. I hate trying to remember something. I woke up in a panic and I don't know why." 

"Were you running from something?" 

Q shook his head slowly. 

"Were you falling?" 

Q jerked in surprise. "How did you know that?" 

"A very common dream, Q, considering the circumstances. How can I help?" 

"You can't, I don't think." 

"We need to sleep. I hope I don't sound callous, but you're going to have to get used to it." 

Q shrugged away from the doorjamb and walked in resignation to the bed. He got under the covers, and Picard followed him. Once they'd settled again, Picard noticed that Q seemed to be lying there with some tension. 

"Were the images really so terrifying?" he asked as gently as he could. 

"No, I don't...it's...I find it comforting, but I don't want to make you uncomfortable." 

"What? What's comforting?" 

"Your...uh...body heat." 

Picard smiled into the dark. "Are you afraid if we bump in the night I'm going to scream 'rape?'" 

"Well, I wasn't sure the Great Jean-Luc Picard would care for being treated like a teddy-bear." 

Cautiously, Picard reached out and laid a hand on Q's arm. The skin was cool and a little clammy, but he felt the muscles relax slightly under his touch. 

"I know this is more difficult for you than I can appreciate," he murmured. "You mustn't hesitate to ask for my help. If it's something I'm not willing to give, I assure you I'll let you know as politely as possible." 

Q chuckled and turned slightly on his side, being careful not to move his arm. "I'll remember that, Jean-Luc. Goodnight." 

"Goodnight, Q." 

 

Fuck you, you bitch!" 

"Eat shit!" 

"It was a gram of blow! You wanna pay for a gram of blow?" 

"I do pay for it, you fucking asshole! On my knees I pay for it!" 

"Come back here, you little slut! You hear me?" 

"Hmm. Something tells me we're not on the Enterprise." 

"Ah, the brilliant captain in action." 

The voices in the hall had moved off into silence when Picard got his eyes fully open. He felt with surprise that his hand was still on Q's arm. Somehow it seemed more significant in the light. He withdrew it carefully, and sat up to the sound of a growling stomach, uncertain whose it was. 

"The track won't open for hours," Q said. "Plenty of time for breakfast." 

"I'm quite hungry as well, but we'll need to keep it cheap." 

"We'll save Brennan's for later." 

"Oh, that's right," Picard said with pleased surprise, "it was open back then...still, I mean...you know what I mean." 

"I do, and the thought of that is scarier than those dreams." 

Picard grunted and got out of bed. Their uniforms had dried almost instantly last night, as the material was designed to do, and hanging in the bathroom had been good for them. He washed himself off and dressed and felt much better than he'd expected. They were going to have to get some suitable clothing, however, as soon as they could afford it. 

Q took his turn in the bathroom while Picard turned on the television and listened to the news. Vice President "and presidential hopeful" Al Gore was visiting a relief camp in Bosnia. The new AIDS vaccine was having difficulties getting approval. The Saints had a slim chance at the playoffs. 

"I'm hungry," Q announced from the bathroom door, and Picard looked to see that Q had not put on his jacket, tying it instead over his shoulders. It made their outfits look dissimilar, and Picard nodded in satisfaction. A thought struck him, and he slipped his com badge into his pocket, making Q nod in his turn. Jean-Luc noted that his companion’s wet hair was finger-combed, and idly wondered it might look like later in the New Orleans humidity. 

"So, what's your pleasure for breakfast, Mon Capitaine?" 

"Coffee, to begin with...though you may not care for it." 

"I've had coffee," Q said with a wave of his hand. "Oh! I have an idea!" He headed out the door, and, with a somewhat indulgent smile, Picard followed. 

They dropped off the key and walked outside to a day just getting started. Picard tried not to stare at the old men who leaned, loitered and ambled around them, their clothes and attitude betraying the truly universal signs of poverty and, in some cases, inebriation. This was Earth Before. These were Humans as they lived then, awaiting the war they dimly perceived as inevitable, with their "Doomsday Clock" and Armageddon-toned sci-fi cinema. If he allowed himself, he could see prophesy in these men, predators and flotsam, lost souls, forgotten... 

"You can't help them, Jean-Luc," Q said quietly as they waited at another stop light. 

"I thought you were without your powers. Are you still telepathic?" 

Q sighed. "No. It's just obvious that you'd want to help them, and your eyes give you away, you know, much more than you think." 

Picard thought that over, dodging a white car, then realized he might know where Q was headed. 

"The Cafe du Monde?" 

Q smiled. "Seems appropriate." 

It was a museum in the 24th Century, complete with life-like mannequins which sat at the little tables, pretending to consume cafe au lait and beignets by the dozens. Otherwise, however, the reconstruction was surprisingly similar to the cafe; which came into view before him. Q chose a table by the railing, and they watched a man make balloon animals until a waitress came to clean off their table. 

"Two cafe au laits and two orders of beignets," Picard said. "And an orange juice." 

"In the seventies they didn't have juice here," Q sniffed when she had gone. "Just java and the donuts." He squinted at the menu on the side of the napkin dispenser. "They even serve decaf now." 

"What's the world coming to?" 

Q smiled absently as he unfolded the newspaper he'd bought on their walk through the Quarter and opened it to the sports section's racing page. Picard retrieved the news section and for the next ten minutes was torn between feeling horror at the disasters and scandals he read about and feeling an odd contentment at the domesticity of sitting here with Q, two friends having breakfast while the world woke up. He was increasingly aware of how much Q wasn't telling him, but he was also amazed at the effort Q was putting into making their predicament feel like an adventure, or even a vacation. 

Their waitress returned and deposited two small glasses of water, an orange juice, two cafe au laits, and six beignets dusted with powdered sugar. Q paid her with a large tip and told her they would want more coffee in ten minutes. 

"What are you snickering at?" Picard asked mildly a few minutes later. 

"You have sugar on your chin." 

Picard retrieved a napkin. "You have it all over your front." 

Q frowned and slapped his napkin over his shirt while Picard watched their waitress approach to confirm their order of more coffee. The captain waited until the plates were clean of all but their residual sugar, and their second cups of coffee half-drunk, before he leaned back in the green vinyl chair and crossed his arms. 

"Ready to go?" Q asked a little too quickly. 

"Q, it's past time we talked about this." 

"Jean-Luc, I had my reasons." 

"Not good enough. Q --" He held up a hand firmly, and with a sigh Q leaned back in his own chair and crossed his legs before settling his hands on the table to drum his fingers. "Q, you've put yourself in true danger, coming here with me, and I'm not going to believe it's over some sort of need for adventure. And besides, I've watched you go for almost twenty-four hours without seriously complaining. It's unnatural, and I want to know what's going on." 

"Is it so impossible that I just want to help you?" Q asked in martyred tones. 

"No, it's not impossible. You've helped me before and I've appreciated it. But there is more going on here, and I want to know what it is." 

Q looked at him blankly a long moment, but Picard refused to be put off, and with a slight sagging of his shoulders, Q sighed, "I didn't lie about what happened, but as for why it happened...it was Q's fault...the wormhole." 

"So this is another order from the Continuum?" 

"No, it was just...his fault." 

"Q, I have no intention of continuing to follow your lead here if you're not going to tell me what's going on." 

"What exactly do you see as your alternatives, Jean-Luc? You have no idea what universe you're in, and if you want to see home again, we're in this together." 

"Is that really how you want me to feel about all this?" 

Q looked ready to cut him in two, then scowled and looked away. When he spoke, his tone was icy, but his eyes were incongruously sad. "It wasn't my fault, but I am responsible in some way. I was there when he came through, to see me." 

"Who?" 

"Q." 

Picard allowed himself an angry sigh. "Which one of you?" 

"Exactly." 

There was a rather lengthy silence. 

"It was a Q from another universe. One of my counterparts. He wanted to see me." 

Picard's eyebrows shot up. "Why?" 

"He wanted to see what I was up to." 

"Do Qs do that sort of thing often?" 

Q fingered his coffee cup a moment, then lifted it up for a sip. "Not really. It tends to cause things like spatial disturbances. I sent him on his way, but I didn't realize...I didn't think he'd be so careless. If I'd checked things out more thoroughly, you wouldn't have run into trouble. So you see, I'm just doing what I have to here. I’m sure, if they could have, the Continuum would have insisted" 

Jean-Luc frowned over Q's rough tone. "You not going to convince me you're not helping me because you care about what happens to me, Q." 

Q blinked at him, then pushed his chair back. "Let's get going." 

Picard let the matter drop for now, joining Q and then walking from the cafe with him. From what he could tell, they would have plenty of time to discuss it later. 

Plenty of time...Good Lord. 

"While you're at the track, I should spend some time finding out as much as I can about this place," the captain said. 

"Actually, I'm going to need you at the Fairgrounds." 

"What for?" 

Q waited until they had crossed the street, turning to walk through the Jackson Square courtyard, red with flowers and draped with tourists enjoying the cooler October air. A young boy was trying to climb the Jackson statue and touch the horse while his sister screamed at him to come down. 

"Several reasons, but for protection, mostly." He held up a hand at the obvious question. "I've spent a lot of time in this form recently, but there are a lot of things I can't do well in it without my powers. One of them is put up a fight. I'm going to be carrying quite the wad of cash by the end of the day. Someone might try to take it from me. A man alone is an easier mark than a pair. Also, it would be better if we split the betting up between us. And besides, I want the company." 

"Oh, well, why didn't you say?" 

Q allowed a smile, and they walked on to the end of the streetcar line. 

"After today, we're taking cabs," Q said sourly. 

"No argument from me, but we're not going to keep betting on the track for funds." 

"No, it will be the stock market after today. I'll be able to do it all on the phone, as soon as we hack into an obliging bank so I can set us up with an account. Besides, tomorrow we shop!" 

"That should be a sight: you let loose in a clothing shop." 

"Oh, don't pretend you don't like the idea of getting some new civvies yourself." 

Picard grunted as they neared the group of people waiting for the streetcar. They were an assortment of business people having lunch. Picard realized he and Q had slept quite late, and thought that one thing he'd have to buy soon was a watch. Some people, somehow obviously tourists, were dressed in long shorts and carrying cameras, and then there were many people in denim and white T-shirts. Everyone had a slightly hostile, wary attitude that Picard found depressing even while it brought his instincts online. He realized it had been foolish to suggest that Q go alone to the track, and would have said so, but the moment seemed only suitable for standing there quietly, watching the rumbling green streetcar come into view, unload its passengers, and then take on the crowd that included him and Q. When the entity put the money into the machine for both of them, the driver seemed to give them a look, but there were so many people around that it was doubtlessly Picard's imagination. 

They managed to find seats, and settled in for the hour-long ride uptown, and somewhere around Washington Street Picard realized he was enjoying himself. 

It was not a high level of enjoyment, but it was definitely measurable. He was having a good time. It was thrilling to be in Earth's past without worrying about messing up the timeline. It was fascinating to watch the people around them, to think about their lives and their many possible futures. And it was simply a relief after recent events – facing down admirals over the Federation’s recent violations of the Prime Directive, fighting in the Dominion War, hearing almost every day about some friend or colleague who was dead or missing -- to have this sort of challenge. Gathering up funds, calculating just where they were, and then figuring out how to get home were sizable challenges, but they didn't make his guts twist up or whisper with awful voices in his head. 

And, Jean-Luc acknowledged, it was hard to be too concerned while Q was working with him. It was a bad habit, but he couldn't stop thinking that if something really bad came along, Q would be able to handle it. He tried to tell himself that Q was without his powers, and in many ways more vulnerable to peril than he was himself, but he knew that Q would be frightened if there were something to be frightened of. He also couldn't help remembering that the entity, though trapped in his current form, boasted an IQ of 2005 and more knowledge than the Enterprise-E computer could hold. Though it wasn't as good as having his crew with him, it was infinitely preferable to being here alone. 

Picard smiled privately. That wasn't a thought he'd have had a few years ago. 

"I'm glad you're happy," Q groused quietly. "My feet hurt already and we're going to be walking around all day." 

"Sore feet and sleeping, Q: part of the Human experience." 

"Hmph. Don't remind me." 

Feeling oddly comforted by Q's griping, Picard leaned back against the hard wooden seat and enjoyed looking at the houses passing by. The subsequent bus trip had less scenery, but they'd managed to time things well. The Fairgrounds were open, the first race was getting set to go. 

As he had the day before, Picard gave Q his endorsement with efficient compliance, and apart from conversing about their task, they spoke little. Q spread the winnings out over the races, making several bets per race, going to different windows, having Picard make half the bets. Their most visible moment occurred when they won the trifecta, though Picard stood there calmly as he took possession of twenty thousand dollars, and returned the teller's tight smile. 

They caught a cab after the last race, almost $70,000 in their pockets, and headed for the Fairmont. Picard walked over the spotless dark red carpet and booked a room -- he toyed with the idea of getting two rooms, but, remembering how Q had needed his company last night, settled for two beds. 

Q went into the gift shop to purchase five maps, a copy of every newspaper in the place, two watches, two T-shirts with the smallest logos he could find, two pairs of sweat pants, four pairs of white socks, some disposable razors and shaving cream for sensitive skin, two deodorants, and one comb. The rest he was assuming would be in the room. 

Q bit his lip unconsciously, wondering if Picard were getting two rooms. He should have told Jean-Luc they needed to save the money...except that that was rather obviously a lie. 

He smiled to himself. With a computer and a modem, he could simply have hacked into some bank's mainframe and helped himself to millions. He thought over the day spent at the track, and chuckled to himself as the clerk rang up his Human necessities. 

_The things I do for you and your sense of morality, Mon Capitaine._

What would he do if Picard had gotten two rooms? Jean-Luc was being incredibly accommodating to keep Q in line, but how far could he push? One night in a room alone and he was going to claw his eyes out. 

He walked slowly towards the registration desk, then spotted Jean-Luc by the column-display of local sites. The man smiled at him without overtones, and Q nodded towards the elevators, where they met, not speaking until they were alone behind the doors and Picard had pushed the button for the seventh floor. 

"I got us a room with a view, I hear," he said with that same smile. 

"It better have a bathtub, or we're checking out," Q growled. "And I want room service the second I get out." 

"Room service?" Picard smiled to himself at the thought of Q on the phone with a menu in his hand. 

Q sighed. "Stuck in the City That Care Forgot with a rube." 

Jean-Luc shook his head slightly and let it go. 

There was a "ding" and the doors opened to a startled-looking man and woman who backed up a half-step, then smiled wanly and got in. Picard noticed they had that "tourist" air about them, and that they kept more distance than was really necessary between themselves and him and Q. He suddenly became aware of his own body odor and the stubble on his chin, and stared up at the numbers above the door. When they reached 7, he moved quickly through the doors even as he heard a muffled gasp behind him. He turned quickly, but Q's face was all innocence as he stepped out. 

Picard waited until the doors closed. 

"What did you do?" 

Q shrugged elaborately. "Nothing, I'm sure." 

The captain rolled his eyes and followed the numbered placards to their room, then opened up the half-suite with relish, thinking fondly of a bath himself. The room was full of soft colors, clean smells, and dark wood furniture, and when he pulled back the drapes he saw the pleasing skyline of the ancient skyscrapers. It was starting to get dark. 

Q walked directly into the bathroom, and spent almost an hour in there, while Picard figured out how to order food, then paid the young man dressed in a white shirt and black pants -- which struck the captain as being an odd choice for a server -- who brought the food. He tipped 15%, waited for the man to leave, and then called through the bathroom door that their food had come. 

Q emerged in a shroud of steam, wearing one of the T-shirts and a pair of sweats. Picard spared a thought to be grateful the bathroom here was connected to a small dressing room. 

"I feel like a new Q! Oh! You got the entire menu, Jean-Luc!" 

"Not quite," Picard murmured. 

"Steak, lobster, shrimp cocktails, red wine, stuffed potatoes, stuffed mushrooms, and creamed spinach. You expecting guests, or is this all for little ole me?" 

Jean-Luc shrugged uncomfortably. "I thought we deserved a little spoiling." 

Q frowned and stopped flapping his hands about. "Now you're the one who's not saying something." 

Picard made himself meet Q's dark brown eyes, seeing in his mind Q in his judge's robes, Q helpless on his bridge, and Q promising to take care of Vash all at the same time. "Q, you are the most dangerous person I have ever met, and at times I have been so thoroughly disgusted with your selfishness that I would have given almost anything never to have been plagued by you again." 

"There'd better be a 'but' coming, Jean-Luc." 

"But for the past day and a half you've been patient, considerate, brilliant, and practical, to say nothing of your altruism in coming after me in the first place." 

"So steak and lobster means 'thanks a million?'" 

"No. I'm trying to say that if I can help you with all this, I want to. If a shared room and nice meals help you to deal with what must be an absolutely horrific experience for you, then I'm all too happy to provide them. And if you have other needs that need meeting while we're getting ourselves back home, then I want to hear about them, Q. Quite frankly, you're going to have to put up with a few dozen demands of mine, and if this partnership is going to work, we're going to have to do all we can for each other." 

Several expressions had traveled across Q's face during Picard's speech, so many that the man had little idea what any of them meant. Incongruously, the primary sentiment expressed seemed almost to be sadness, but then, when Q met his eyes again, he simply seemed approving and mildly tired. 

"Agreed, Mon Capitaine. Now, dinner's getting cold." 

The food was quite good, especially to the captain after his years of replicators, and they finished almost all of it. Then Jean-Luc took his turn in the bathroom, soaking and scrubbing off the dirt of what seemed half the city. When he emerged in his own new clothes, he saw Q lounging on the right-hand bed, changing the channels on the television with a small control box, and no sign of their uniforms. 

"Oh, I sent them to the laundry," Q said absently. Picard poured himself the last of the wine and spread the newspapers out on the other bed, reading quietly while Q changed channels and made the occasional remark, many of which were outside the man's frame of reference, and all of which were scornful. 

"Too bad there's no wrestling on," Q lamented at one point. "You'd like that. It's almost Klingon." 

"Perhaps another night," Picard murmured through a yawn. "I've found a good place to buy computers, and I can't yet find any major historical differences between our universe at this time and this universe, except, perhaps..." 

Q had turned the sound down on the television and was looking at him. "What?" 

"Well, I'm fairly certain that there's more unrest in the Mid-East than there should be, but it may just be the way the newspapers enjoy describing the tension." 

Q snagged the New York Times and scanned through the news section for the right headlines, then quickly read the articles. "No, you're right. This is more than it should be." Q looked thoughtful. "That could be very significant...or not. Look, are you ready to go to sleep yet?" 

"Yes, quite." Picard began folding up the newspapers when he felt Q's eyes on him. Keeping things as casual as he could, he rose, turned off the lights, and then got under the covers of Q's bed, sliding in next to the entity and lightly touching his arm. Q almost seemed to shiver, but then turned over -- again not moving his arm -- and was quiet. Picard wondered if he himself weren't feeling a little comforted by Q's body heat, and then closed his eyes and went immediately to sleep. 

Picard awoke again in the early morning, but not because Q had arisen. He was a little warmer than he wanted to be, but the room's temperature couldn't be faulted. No, his present circumstances were caused by a little too much body heat coming from his companion, transmitted through his back, which was pressed up against Q's body while the entity's long arms had him wrapped up securely, holding him in place. Q's face was pressed into his neck, and his warm breath was tickling him slightly. 

Picard thought about screaming in horror and leaping out of bed. He thought about turning around and punching Q in the nose. He thought about slipping out of bed quietly and taking up residence with the newspapers. He thought about nudging Q to see if he would roll away. He thought about ignoring the whole thing and going back to sleep. 

This last one gained favor as he became quite certain that Q really was unconscious. He wondered if the Q maintained some sort of mental closeness while in the Continuum which allowed them to rest without actually sleeping. Or perhaps this was some sort of mimicked Human instinct to cuddle which was being brought out by Q's anxiety over his powerlessness.   
__  
Well, whatever it is, it isn't killing me, and I did tell Q I wanted to help him. If he needs to do this for a while...still, I do feel ridiculous. But hysterics won't help. Dieu, he's like a furnace.  
  
Very slowly, Picard pulled away the covers from the front of his body, allowing some of the warmth to escape, and in a few minutes he closed his eyes and went back to sleep. In the morning, he woke up alone, to sounds of Q’s pottering around in the bathroom. He wondered if his companion even knew what he'd done in the night, and then smothered a laugh at the thought of Q's awakening to find himself wrapped around him and reacting with horror. 

_Well, he did warn me he would treat me like a teddy-bear. I should have known to take him literally._

A knock at the door got him out of bed, and he was soon smiling politely at another young man in black pants and a white shirt who wheeled in a tray laden with breakfast. The man set up their tray between the beds as Picard fetched his payment. 

"You two from out of town?" the server asked. 

"Yes, rather." 

"You'll like it here, trust me, whatever you see on TV." The man turned to him and looked at him with a strange sense of camaraderie, as though they were newly met members in a club. "We're having a march Friday night to Charity. Consider yourselves invited." 

Picard's smile was fixed. "Yes, thank you. We will if we can." 

The man smiled and seemed almost ready to slap him on the back, then smiled over his tip and left. 

Picard turned at the chuckling coming from the bathroom door. Q stood there with his arms crossed, wearing his T-shirt and uniform pants, his face shaven and his hair neatly combed. Picard thought absently that this was all starting to feel quite civilized. 

"You don't by any chance realize what he meant about the march, do you?" Q asked. 

"I gather it's some sort of political protest." 

They moved towards breakfast and sat on their beds. There was coffee, croissants, grits, bacon, and jelly. 

"Point to you, but that's not all that he meant." Q snagged the paper from the table and opened it to the news section, scanning for the article he wanted before passing it to Jean-Luc. The captain set down his coffee and read about the man who'd been in the paper yesterday, a victim of something called "gay-bashing." He looked up with a frown to find Q laughing at him. 

"Our waiter assumed we're lovers," Q informed him with obvious relish. "He thought we'd want to join in their Gay Pride protest." 

Picard knew Q was only looking for a reaction from him, but couldn't quite keep himself from reacting anyway. Of course, to others they'd appear homosexual, which wouldn't matter in his own time, but here...Earth had been very odd about accepting homosexuality in this time. On the one hand, it was the first time Western Civilization had begun to accept it publicly, even legally. On the other... 

He forced himself to take a sip of coffee and jelly up a roll. "Since we're going to have to do all we can to keep from interacting with, and thus influencing, others, we're going to give people the impression of great intimacy between us." 

"You going to pretend it doesn't bother you that people will think we're doing the Wild Thing?" 

"I'm not sure I know what that is, Q. But whatever you mean, it's somewhat irrelevant to the task at hand." 

Q sighed, his game spoiled, and turned serious. "Not completely. We're going to have to be careful about this, Jean-Luc. At this time in history, gay men are automatic members of a tightly knit community, which means they automatically get some real hatred from outsiders. We'll need to watch where we go at night, and if we have to leave the city, we may have to worry about much more obvious discrimination. Of course we'll look a lot less gay when we're no longer dressed alike, but there will always be that problem." 

"I don't see why," Picard objected. 

"Because neither of us is interested in re-learning our mannerisms to announce to others that we're not gay. In America at this time, straight men spend a considerable amount of energy demonstrating to others that they're heterosexual. Tell me, if Riker put his hand on your shoulder on the bridge and whispered in your ear that you had an invisible intruder on the bridge, what would you do?" 

Picard frowned. "I'd run a scan for any anomalous readings on the bridge and quietly summon security." 

"You wouldn't feel the need to lean away from him and make it clear to everyone that what he said was completely in the line of duty?" 

"Of course not!" 

"Well, here, that's what you'd do. What anyone who didn't want to be labeled a 'fag' would do. You're comfortable with yourself, with your sexuality, your identity. Around here, that's going to give everyone the idea that you're homosexual." Q seemed slightly depressed by the level of Picard's scowl. "But this is New Orleans, Jean-Luc, with a highly visible, even flamboyant, gay community. Very few people will really care one way or the other, and, as you say, we'll be keeping our contact with others light." 

A new expression joined those already in residence on Picard's features. 

"What?" Q asked. 

"Nothing. You know, I quite like having grits for breakfast. I wonder if Beverly would like them." 

"I take it back. You'll be wonderful at defending your sexuality." 

Picard looked angry now. "I was only trying to avoid an inappropriate question, Q." 

"You may ask me whatever you like, Jean-Luc." 

"In what ways has the Continuum interfered in Human history?" 

"...as long as it's a personal question." 

Picard seemed torn, and played a while with his coffee cup. Q continued to watch him expectantly, and finally, with a sigh, the man noted, "You're somewhat...suggestive in your mannerisms yourself, Q. It's made me wonder, I admit..." 

"Yes?" 

"Do the Q actually have a personal gender preference? I mean, do you think of yourself as male?" 

Q looked obscurely disappointed, but answered readily enough, "Yes. The Q are actually beyond needing gender, but it is a racial instinct. I've mentioned my 'brothers and sisters' of the Continuum often enough to reveal that. I even have one sister who's a favorite of mine. We joined recently, to produce issue." 

Picard blinked at him. "You had a child?" 

"Yes, though....the Continuum resisted the idea at first, and we were raising him on our own, but then everyone fell in love with the little tyke, and it seems I hardly get to see him anymore." 

"That's most surprising, considering the resistance Amanda Rogers met with." 

"Oh, her." Q flapped a hand and poured them both more coffee. "She was a Human who became a Q, and when I got her back to the Continuum with her parents in tow it was the same as it would have been if Riker had joined -- a legal adult with new powers who just needed some guidelines. My child, well, the child of the Continuum, is an infant, learning more about us than we know ourselves. None of us has any idea what he'll become in time. It's quite exhilarating." 

"Sounds somewhat reckless to me," Picard noted sourly. 

"Yes, it is." Q leaned forward suddenly, placing an elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. "Jean-Luc, you've been a wonderful influence on me, don't get me wrong, but in some ways you led me in the wrong direction. I conformed to the wishes of my superiors, but it took an outcast Q to show me that I had a cause for which to fight. I fought it with the determination worthy of a Picard, and it was as reckless as you yourself were when saving the ambassador on Milikin III, or the population of Penthara Four." 

Picard smiled, though somewhat suspiciously. "Q, I do believe you have a story to tell me." 

By the time the they both bathed and dressed and were ready to shop, Picard had heard all about Quinn, and the civil war in the Continuum, and Q's involvement with the crew of the Voyager. For some reason, he was pleased that Q's experience with Humanity now had reference beyond that of his interactions with the Enterprise crew, and he was forward to the day he could offer to buy Kathryn Janeway a drink and ask her about her adventures...especially those in the Continuum. He wondered if she realized the honor of having been there twice, and thought idly that in the end she might be some sort of Human-Q ambassador. 

_Better she than I_ , he'd thought at one point, surprising himself, but meaning it. Whichever Human was eventually picked to fill that role would have a very difficult task indeed, and his plate was already full. 

The computer was the most important thing, and they rode the taxi directly to CompUSA and told the driver to wait. Inside, they walked to the best the store had to offer and quickly found themselves approached by a salesperson. They left soon after with a top-of-the-line system, including a printer and built-in 52K modem which would do until they got a permanent lodging and a direct line to the Internet. They ferried the system back to the hotel, then dismissed the taxi and set things up in their room. Once Q was online (100 free hours and no money up front from the Sprint Network), it took him only half an hour to set himself and Picard up with checking accounts. They then walked to Hibernia and transferred the money, then to Canal Place and then to the Riverwalk, systematically searching through stores selling men's clothes. 

Picard would have been happy to quit long before they did, except that shopping with Q turned out to be a spectacle in a way he hadn't imagined. He'd expected campy oohing and ahhing, and instead was startled with the entity's efficient concern over fashion, image, and quality. He also appreciated the way Q suggested purchases without actually hovering, and never once acted as though they were a "couple." 

While they both bought business suits of dark gray, which they had altered and arranged to be sent to the hotel, they concentrated on clothes they could wear on the street. Q had insisted on their both getting jeans and khakis at a place called The Gap. Picard had liked the look of a bomber's jacket from Banana Republic, and Q had opted for a long black coat from Brooks Brothers. They both got sturdy walking shoes, as well as the necessities of underwear and socks. 

Picard stopped at someplace called The Footlocker for running attire, and with a trace of disdain Q bought tennis shoes, asking the manager of the store about good local athletic clubs. At another store Jean-Luc bought some comfortable and cool pajamas, and was quietly adamant that Q do so as well. He couldn't help thinking that if he were going to be pressed up to Q every night for the next few weeks, he didn't want either of them in sweat pants. 

A stop at Bookstar allowed Picard to purchase some history books, as well as some extremely crude starcharts and a few guidebooks to the city. Q scooped up issues of all the newspapers and Wallstreet and Internet magazines. 

They were dressed quite differently now, with Picard in khakis and a green T-shirt, and Q in black pants and chambray, and Picard was pleased to note this did seem to make a difference in the way people interacted with them. When they had lunch at a diner that Picard thought was ridiculously quaint, no one seemed concerned with them at all, and only in retrospect did Picard realize how many people had ogled him and Q at the Cafe du Monde. 

It was mid-afternoon by the time they got back to the hotel. Q plunked down in front of the computer and set himself up with everything he needed to buy and trade their way into a very quiet fortune. Picard read over the world's history and found it exactly like his own universe's until about a century previous to this time, at which point small changes began to occur. They grew, and included three atom bombs dropped on Japan in WWII, Gandhi dying from old age, and a great deal more conflict in the Middle East than should have been possible without a major, if not global, consequence. Unsurprisingly, most of the conflict concerned the shortage in fossil fuels. 

When the tight printed lines of history began to blur, he looked through the starcharts, and knew somehow they'd have to get the use of a proper telescope. He needed accurate measurements, but his instincts told him the heavens were a little off...just a little, but enough, perhaps, to help them figure out "where" they were. 

Picard understood the nature of their task well enough to know that differences were the key. They needed to know some measurement of the exact difference between their universe and this one to know the alignment between them. And then they were going to have to figure out some way to create enough power using the materials available to signal the Enterprise. Doubtlessly, they wouldn't get the sort of resolution needed for a voice communication, but he had a number of codes...and then as soon as Q was "home" enough to have his powers, he'd take them back to their original departure time. 

Perhaps they should just send a general signal, Picard thought. Who knew how much time was passing in their world? The Enterprise might not be around anymore. 

"That's a sad expression, Mon Capitaine," Q noted, then yawned. 

Picard was going to take that yawn as a commentary upon his company until he realized it was after one AM. 

"Look at the time," he murmured, smothering his own yawn. "Time for sleep, I think." 

"Ah, a chance to break in the PJs." Q leapt up, then halted himself, looking at his roommate. "I suppose I should offer to let you go first." 

Picard waved an arm. "I don't mind." 

Q smiled and went into the luxurious bath, splashing about in the shower and emerging within another cloud of steam, new pajamas a little creased from the bag, damp hair curling as he padded across the room and got into bed. When Picard came out, he rather hoped Q would already be asleep, and turned off the lights quietly. 

"Jean-Luc," Q murmured. "When the market opens tomorrow we're going to make a killing with soybean oil, orange juice, and lumber." 

"Wonderful." 

"And then we'll diversify with some blue chip stocks, saving about half for more commodities trading..." Q yawned again. "It shouldn't be long before we can fund some real...whatever we'll need to do." 

"Look through a telescope. That's our first priority." 

"Shouldn't be too hard. Aren't you going to get closer?" 

"Q..." 

"Yes?" 

"Here. Is that better?" 

"Why, Jean-Luc! You impetuous rascal! Our elbows are touching!" 

"Go to sleep, Q." 

"Did you remember to brush your teeth?" 

Picard sighed in response, then reached out and placed his hand on Q's forearm and closed his eyes. The entity fell quiet, and the day's toll put them both quickly to sleep. Picard woke up twice in the night, once to find Q's arm across his chest, a second time to find them spooned up as they had been the night before. The thin sleepwear helped. It was almost cozy. 

In fact, Picard suddenly wanted to giggle. Here was the Great and Powerful Q, who'd flung his ship into the path of the Borg, who's almost made him destroy Humanity, who'd embarrassed the hell out of him in front of his "merry men," who'd menaced him more often than he could count. And now Q was cuddled up behind him like a child. It was...strangely flattering. 

But he was too tired to enjoy the irony for long, and when the morning woke him Q was again in the bathroom. 

_What does he do in there? Wherever we find to live had better have at least two full baths, or I'm going to spend all my time waiting._

And then he was on his back, his hand on his stomach, shaking with laughter. Naturally, Q came out half-dressed to demand to know what was going on. At the sight of the entity with his pants on and his shirt off, Picard laughed harder. There were actually tears forming. When he could look at Q again, there was a puzzled and involuntary smile that reached all the way to his dark brown eyes. 

Picard finally sobered and sat up, pushing back the covers. "It's just our...enforced domesticity. The past few days have so little to do with how I think of you." 

Q frowned over that, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorjamb. "And how do you think of me, Jean-Luc?" 

Picard found himself stymied, and stood up, stretching his back slightly. He really wanted to go for a run...and then realized there was no reason he couldn't. 

"I don't know, Q. I suppose I think of you as a powerful and unpredictable entity. I'm going for a run." 

"I'm going to expand our fortune and get us access to a telescope." 

Picard nodded and headed to the bathroom, where he changed into his gear, then came out and tucked his key card into his pocket. 

"It might fall out," Q said absently, looking at his computer and typing as he talked. "I'm going to be here. Just leave it." 

Picard pulled out the card and set it by the TV, which was on without the sound. Suddenly, he felt bad about leaving Q alone. "I won't be gone long." 

"All right." Q didn't look away from the screen. 

Frowning at himself, Picard left the room and rode down the elevator to the street. There were pleasant breezes mixing with the morning's humidity, chilling his sweat slightly as he ran. The sidewalks weren't particularly crowded, and he enjoyed looking at the old architecture. He found he kept having to remind himself he wasn't jogging on the holodeck. He returned to the path along the river, then ran up and down Esplanade, somewhat puzzled at the Jean Lafitte House, which was a reconstructed museum in his time and seemed to be a sort of hotel now. 

He tried very hard not to stare at the homeless people huddling in doorways, asking people for money, or stretched out, still sleeping, in the damp autumn morning. He wondered what they would do in the winter, and how they could live in plain sight of everyone and seem to be somehow not there at all. It all made him run harder than he should, and he was a little dizzy with panting when he pulled up outside the hotel. 

His head cleared as he stretched, slowly, quietly enjoying the simple physical certainty of it. 

"New in town?" 

Picard didn't realize at first the question was meant for him. Only when he was standing at rest and about to turn to walk into the hotel did he see the rather seedy young man smoking a cigarette and "eyeing" him. 

"No," he answered shortly, and jerked open the glass door, smothering his spike of anger. 

"I then I said, 'Cody, you were born to be a star!'" 

Howls of laughter, a round of applause. Q was sitting at the computer with fierce concentration, tapping keys seemingly at random. Picard had no doubt millions were being made. 

"I can't believe this kid," a man was saying on the television. "There he is in the little outfit, and you're standing there with Frank, and he takes a bow!" 

More screams of laughter. Picard wanted to object to the volume level, but forced himself on into the bathroom, where he showered in near-scalding water, shaved, and dressed in jeans and an olive-green T-shirt that he almost tore when ripping off the tag. 

Nothing had changed when he emerged, except that he noticed his portion of breakfast waiting for him: juice, an urn of coffee, rolls, butter and jam. He poured a cup of the coffee, which was passably warm, and stood there. 

"I'm really proud of the film," some woman was saying. "I knew the director likes to work with people who know their lines on Day One, so the first day of shooting, I had everything down, and, then, wouldn't you know it, there was a last-minute script change, and I got so nervous, but then we decided not to shoot the scene, because Steven didn't like the look of the sky, so we shot the original scene, and I was okay." 

"Oh, can you imagine that, Kathy?" the man said, groaning in sympathy. "The pressure you actresses are under." 

"I couldn't do it!" the blonde woman shouted, throwing out her arms. "It's all I can do to keep up with this maniac." She jerked her thumb at the man. "Believe me. It's all I can do!" 

More laughter, and Picard jerked slightly as the set was clicked off. He looked up from his coffee to see Q setting down the remote and stretching his arms. Then he dropped them and turned off the computer before meeting Jean-Luc's eyes. 

"I've made us all the money we're going to need for a while, I should think." 

"Good work." 

Q shrugged with a half-smile. "It was actually something less than sheer torture. I'd forgotten the pleasures gained from simple tasks." 

Picard grunted and drained his coffee. His empty stomach protested. 

"Counselor Troi isn't here, you know." 

"Meaning?" 

"Meaning, are you going to tell me what's bothering you, or are you just going to stand there scowling at your coffee cup until it cracks?" 

Jean-Luc looked at Q carefully. There was no mockery there, nor cloying concern. He looked rather like Troi at this instant, almost professional in his interest. He could feel himself responding to the offer, as he had trained himself to do with her. Q was right, she wasn't here, but could he really tolerate Q as a stand-in for however long they were stuck here? 

"You know," Q said with quiet practicality, "when I have problems here, you're going to be my only person to talk to as well." 

Picard allowed himself a dramatic shudder, and felt the tension ease. He sighed, met Q's eyes, and tried to cut through to the issue ASAP. "It's being here, being unable to help these people. A young man came up to me...I wanted to rush him to Beverly and turn him over to people trained to help him, to give his life back to him. He was offering himself, as though he were an article of clothing to be bought in the street, and for what? A meal? Some sort of hallucinogen? I've seen so many desperate people, but not Humans, on Earth. Even in the 21st Century, it somehow...wasn't so bad." 

"Because that was a war zone?" 

Picard thought about that. "Probably. They had an enemy to face, a future to embrace. These people...are they headed towards a global conflict that will finish them all off? How can they live like this?" 

Q didn't answer the rhetorical question, simply sitting there, thinking about what Jean-Luc had said, and, suddenly, the captain smiled. "You're better at this than I would have imagined." 

Q smiled back. "I told you, I've been practicing." Picard chuckled, and realized he did feel better. Then Q stood abruptly. "We need to change." 

"I just got into this." 

"And you look lovely, Johnny, but we have an appointment with a radio telescope and we need to look like scientists. It's also something of a drive, so we'd better get going." 

"A drive?" 

"Yes, they dropped off the rental car while you were running." Q didn't bother to mention the problems he'd had online, or the laws he’d technically broken, getting them driver's licenses. 

The radio telescope proved to be a good four hours' drive out of New Orleans, with both of them taking shifts behind the wheel. Q drove in traffic, while Picard felt comfortable enough with the automatic shift to drive the long stretches on the freeways. The scenery was incredibly lush, the trees shimmering dark green with the slight wind, heavy with early fall’s inheritance of summer. There was water everywhere, and after an hour or so of it, Picard knew he was enjoying himself again. There was something healing in all that relentless growth. 

The telescope itself was fascinating. None of these were still in working order in Picard's time, and when he and Q (supposedly radio astronomers attached to SETI and visiting from Washington, DC) were given the tour, he managed to get on the team leader's good side with his questions and obvious interest. 

It was dark when they made it back to the hotel, comfortably not speaking as they rode the elevator up with their arms full of radio starcharts. Both spent the minimum time needed in the bath, and then crawled into bed with grunted "goodnights." Picard didn't wake up at all in the night, but when his eyes cracked into the sunlight streaming through the window they forgot to drape, he could feel the sweat on his back from where he'd been pressed against Q, and the bed was still warm from the entity's body.   
_  
Soon we're going to wake up together and have to deal with this. But...what does that mean, exactly? I don't suppose I'm going to ask him to stop, not when he's being so...I mean, if this is all he wants in return...perhaps I should just see to it that we don't have to confront anything for a while.  
_  
He rose and ordered breakfast, then sat down and started in on the charts. Q joined him, and by lunch they had exact readings on the differences between the stars' positions here, and those back in their own universe (the exact position of which Q supplied). After that, they did the equations together to determine the exact strength, wavelength, confinement polarity and "direction" of the signal they would need to reach their own universe. 

Now they just needed 24th Century technology to create it. 

After making a few phone calls, they spent the afternoon looking at warehouses and finally settled on one on Tchoupitoulas, set back far enough from the river but nicely isolated and secure with intact fences, an alarm system, and a sturdy gate. Since they'd gone by the bank first, Picard paid the first three month's rent in cash, was calmly handed the keys, and saw the realtor out. 

The concrete floor of the main storage area had been swept clean, but there was some junk in the office and upstairs living quarters. Q tried to help shift some of the empty boxes, but when Picard opened the unplugged refrigerator, the entity fled to the car "to buy some things." 

The living quarters had been a nice surprise, and the main reason they'd picked this particular warehouse. The original intent must have been to provide adequate residence for several workers. There had been two baths, a large kitchen, and four bedrooms, but someone had knocked out the wall between two of the bedrooms, making a large main room, and keeping the two other bedrooms intact. 

After the refrigerator, which Picard cleaned out with supplies from under the sink and without thinking about what he was doing, the rest of the place wasn't so bad. He was thinking about pressing his luck with a shower when someone buzzed the gate. He used the intercom, and was soon showing delivery men to one of the bedrooms upstairs, watching in some amusement as they assembled an enormous four-poster bed that took up almost the entire room and came with a canopy frame and its own little wooden steps. Picard found himself actually admiring the ornate carvings in the dark wood that looked like ivy and small flowers, but half-way through construction, he was answering the buzzer again, and now let in men with two large armchairs, an enormous television with an elaborate sound system, a dining table and four chairs. 

Q himself showed up while a man was hooking a small satellite dish to the side of the warehouse. 

"I bring dinner!" he shouted as he came through the front door carrying bags of many colors. "There's more stuff in the car." 

Picard fetched packages, fighting to keep the smile off his face. The bed was really too much. And he noticed Q hadn't bought a sofa. 

He set down the bags on the already laden table and found Q in the kitchen, opening little white cardboard boxes that read "Five Happiness" and producing chopsticks. 

"You wouldn't believe what I had to shell out to get all this delivered today, Mon Capitaine. The Direct TV guy I'm having to pay on the sly." 

"You're not really one for waiting, are you, Q?" Picard took up a carton of broccoli beef and ate a mouthful as Q produced a bottle of red wine and opened it, pouring it into the wine glasses he'd rinsed off in the sink. 

"I can wait for something important," Q said absently. "But I don't believe in enduring unnecessary hardship." 

"I hope in that mess you bought sheets for the bed." 

"Of course I did. And a down comforter that's in the trunk. After I get some food I'll run a load of sheets and then I can make it up." Q's eyes sparkled with mischief and Picard politically ignored him, smiling quietly inside as he took a sip of the wine. 

"What?" he couldn't help saying, then grabbed the bottle to see his own brand. "Wherever did you find it?" 

Q looked quite pleased with himself. "There's a gourmet supermarket next to the Pier 1. I got all the bottles of it they had." 

"In the trunk?" 

"Hm-hm." Q took up a crab ragoon as the dish installer appeared to get their signature. Q handed him some cash as well, saw him out, and then took his food and drink into the dining room to open packages. Picard followed, and took out the new paper and pens, making up a list of supplies they would need while Q disappeared into the back. Soon, he heard a humming thumping noise he assumed was the washing machine. 

By the time his list was done and he'd finished mapping out in his mind where they would put things in the warehouse, it was quite late and Q was nowhere to be seen. Jean-Luc headed upstairs, cleaned up in the kitchen, took the garbage out to the curb, and then marched with some determination towards the bedroom. 

"Q..." he began, opening the door, then stood there, his hand on the knob. 

Caribbean blue, with small, white, almost sparkly dots that looked for all the world like stars in a deep night sky: all across the canopy, down through the comforter, accented with blue and silver pillows. Q had gotten dark blue curtains for the window, and now they framed the stretch of river outside, itself lined brokenly with white lights. The ceiling light was on, diffusing through the canopy, and everything that wasn't sparkling seemed to glow. 

He realized Q was behind him, and wanted to say something appropriate. This felt like a gift he wasn't certain how to accept. 

"In the Continuum," Q said softly, "we don't sleep, but we do rest, and it can be like this, sort of...the stars, I mean...I thought, we'll be needing someplace safe to go, someplace there aren't people you hate yourself for not helping, someplace just..." 

"It's perfect," Jean-Luc murmured, feeling how strangely tight his hand was on the doorknob. There was some tension in his chest too. Somehow, he couldn't stop thinking about how he would spend his time in this bed with Q's arms around him. But perhaps it was just the thought of being warm. It had grown quite cold in the warehouse since the sun went down. Tomorrow they'd have to figure out the heating system. 

"It's perfect, Q," he repeated, commending his companion as he turned with an approving smile. "And if you don't mind, I'm going to take a shower and test it out." 

Q smiled, a little distantly, and stepped back. "I'm already clean...oh, and I took the far bathroom." 

"The larger one?" 

Q shrugged innocently. 

Picard moved into his bathroom and found his pajamas already hanging on the door's hook. He shed what he'd left on of his "scientist's" clothes and found the space heater. He took his time washing the day off, then came out, closed the bedroom door behind him, and climbed the stairs into bed. Q was already making his little snoring sounds Picard found privately hilarious; the bed was outrageously comfortable and smelled faintly of soap. He was quickly asleep. 

When he woke up, there was something different about Q's embrace. It was something he'd never felt before, and it took him a few groggy moments to work out what was going on. 

Q was hard, and pressing into his buttock. 

Everything else was the same. Q's arms around him had him securely pressed against him, and again Q's face was tucked into his neck. But then...   
_  
Well, men do have these in their sleep, and Q's a man now, as far as nature is concerned. It's doubtlessly happened before and I just didn't wake up. I've basically agreed to do this every night too. How the hell did I get in this situation, anyway? And I thought that Robin Hood thing was bad. Well, if Vash were here she'd have a laugh, at least. I shudder to think what Beverly would say...or...how about Will?  
_  
Picard had to use everything he had not to laugh. He tried to think of other things, but Q shifted slightly, rubbing himself gently against his flank, and that was a little hard to ignore.   
_  
Did he and Vash have sex?_ he asked himself as a desperate distraction. _I should think Q's probably had just about every sort of sex there is, and then some. Does it really give him pleasure anymore? Q said making that money was fun, and he enjoyed making up this bed as a surprise...rather like when he went off to make his Sherwood Forest preparations. I should do something, make some sort of surprise for him, but what the hell would he possibly like?_ A small boat passed down the river, its lights glimmering on the water, and suddenly Jean-Luc again felt as though he were on the holodeck. It was supremely peaceful here, right this moment, despite the flesh pressing against his backside. The comforter was soft in his arms, and he felt cradled without, somehow, feeling coddled. When Beverly tried to comfort him, as much as he appreciated it, it always felt as though he were being treated as a child, or an invalid, but now this...this was easing his worries away without diminishing him, and he felt deeply grateful to Q for this. 

Well, it was the wrong time for deep thoughts, he told himself, closing his eyes with determination and not thinking about Q's involuntary erection. He would find something fun to surprise Q with, and do it. 

The next four days flowed smoothly together. They researched the area through Q’s computer (now equipped with a direct Internet line and partnered by Picard's identical unit), paper, and phone consultation, and bought all the equipment and tools they could to begin the construction of the transmitter. They agreed the power source would be the most dangerous part, and should be saved for last. They weren't going to be able to build the source themselves, nor did they know exactly how much power was going to be needed until they saw how efficient they could make the transmitter. Doubtlessly, the source was going to have to be nuclear, which posed problems neither of them wanted to discuss at this stage. 

The warehouse was quickly full, and between them they parceled out the construction duties. 

They had a bit more trouble figuring out how to handle the chores attendant on living outside a hotel. Eventually, the kitchen became Picard's domain, and Q did most of the other things. They could, of course, hire a maid, but they didn't want anyone else having access to the warehouse. It all worked itself out in the end, especially since both of them were making overt efforts to accommodate the other. 

And each night, it was exactly the same. They'd shower and put on their sleepwear, calmly get into bed, say goodnight, go to sleep, and then at some point in the night Picard would awaken to find Q wrapped around him, sometimes hard, sometimes not. He resigned himself to it, and even eventually could admit that sleeping together was comforting to both of them, but it was never mentioned, and in the daytime Picard carefully didn't think of it. 

At the end of the fifth day, Picard found himself looking closely at Q. His companion was hunched over the counter they'd set up in the back of the warehouse under two bright lights, trying to get enough magnification from the large, lit circle of glass to see his way into connecting the computer chip at the end of his tweezers to the interface they'd jury-rigged from three mother boards. He dropped the chip, again, and cursed in a language Jean-Luc didn't recognize. It was a pretty impressive curse, regardless. 

"Q, let's get out of here." 

Dark brown eyes met his in frank surprise, and Picard felt inordinately pleased with himself. 

"I thought we were trying to do just that," Q said carefully. 

"You know what I mean. No one could blame us for having a drink and listening to some music. We've earned it, and we'll be all the better for it in the morning." 

"Well, that depends on how much we drink." Q stood, carefully arranged his tools, and stepped away from his work bench. Picard set down the schematics he was fine-tuning, and together they moved upstairs to change into dark-colored clothes. 

They started with the House of Blues, and spent a little time in Margaritaville because the music couldn't be resisted, but they settled down across the street to listen to Walter Wolfman Washington, drinking beer and saying little, lost in their own thoughts, supported by the companionship they'd worked so hard to achieve. 

While the band was on break, Picard slid easily off his rather unkempt barstool and strode back to the men's room, smiling very privately as the odor around the urinals reminded him of a bar at which he'd spent some time while still a cadet, trying not to snicker as Marta pretended -- 

"Got a light?" 

Jean-Luc finished up and buttoned his fly before turning around to the owner of that overtly suggestive voice. A strikingly attractive man with thick black hair, blue eyes and a bomber jacket rather like his own was looking him over.   
_  
Do I have some sort of sign on my forehead?  
_  
"No," he said shortly, but apart from pushing the man out of his way, his further options were limited. "Excuse me." 

"Are you about to do something that needs excusing?" The man laughed slightly, and Jean-Luc suppressed the urge to punch him in the nose. He was reminded of men and women he'd met before who were too used to getting everything with a charming smile. He was somehow also reminded of a Romulan. 

"I only meant I want to pass." 

"Why pass up something when you don't know how good it is?" 

"A lack of interest?" Picard parried mildly, using the man's moment of confusion now to slip past. The band's music blasted through him, and he felt a disconcerting level of relief. Why were these offers so infuriating? He'd avoided passes before.   
_  
Ah, but the situations were different, weren't they, Jean-Luc? You didn't have to worry about not making waves there, and you weren't...somehow, you weren't feeling this exposed before. What is it? Is it just that I'm so far from home?  
_  
He settled beside Q, nodding as the music rattled his teeth, and then watched his companion's eyes fix on a point over his shoulder. Feeling dread, Picard turned to see that the black-haired man had followed him, and was now looking at Q with some disdain. His dark blue eyes moved then to Picard, and filled with overt disbelief. 

"Oh, sweetheart. You can do so much better," the man crooned over the music. 

Q stiffened, and it seemed to Jean-Luc that he could feel the energy coming off that tall body beside him. But he kept his expression almost neutral, his body relaxed, and let just a hint of incredulity show. Those blue eyes narrowed and turned to Q with open scorn. The pretty mouth opened, and Picard found himself saying rather loudly, "Q, do you remember that man we met last year in Mobile?" 

Q leaned forward, looming behind him as he'd done so often before, and said as quietly as he could while still being heard over Bourbon Street Bump, "Of course I do." 

Strange, Picard couldn't help thinking, how very intimate this pose of Q’s leaning over his shoulder became in the right circumstances. 

"He couldn't understand what 'a couple' meant, either," Picard remarked aloud, making his tone a little sweet now. He tilted his head back just slightly, and let his ear brush Q's cheek, just a bit. 

Suddenly, the man dropped his disdainful pose, and smiled with dazzling friendliness. Again, Picard thought of Romulans. "Couples sometimes invite friends over, and I could certainly make you happy..." He was looking at Q, then turned back to Picard, "...to make you happy." 

The music stopped, and one of the band signaled the others before fixing a string on his guitar. In the near-quiet, Picard murmured, "I assure you, we have no need of company this evening." 

The man was about to say something else, but then he was looking at Q, who was looking, Picard could vaguely tell, at Jean-Luc. Whatever the man saw on Q's face, it was enough to make him shrug in an empty no-hurt-feelings gesture and saunter away. Picard turned quickly to see for himself, but Q was only grinning at him suggestively. 

"Wanna dance?" 

"Really, Q. I think you enjoyed that!" 

"Oh, but you were being so gallant!" 

The music started up again, and Picard grabbed his beer, drained it, and asked Q if he wanted to go. 

"Only if you mean to another bar. I'm not letting someone else ruin what's been our best time here." 

Picard was startled into forgetting his anger. Q was right. If he weren't careful, he was going to start pouting. 

"It's just so...unsettling. It's bothering me like it never has before." 

"It's never been so dangerous before," Q noted simply. 

Jean-Luc blinked. "That sounds right, but I'm not sure what you mean." 

Q looked over at the band. "Let's go someplace quieter." 

Picard nodded, and they made their way outside the bar. Though it was almost one in the morning, the streets were quite crowded still, and they found themselves heading for the river. There was a well-lit stretch of the red brick "moonwalk" which still had a few people sitting about or strolling. They wound up leaning against the metal bars at the river's edge, their ears ringing. A tugboat went past, and Picard saw a rat moving among the rocks at the water line. 

"I keep thinking I'm in the holodeck, and then realizing...I don't know what's wrong with me. I've been in situations like this before without losing my focus like this." 

"Have you really, Jean-Luc? Or isn't this really all much closer to a Dixon Hill adventure than saving the Earth from the Borg?" 

"But we're not safe. You just pointed out the danger we face." 

"But it's such an odd sort of danger, isn't it? You're used to facing down enemies in battle, not worrying about them coming on to you in the men's room. You don't know the rules. You don't even want to play the game. And you feel guilty because you're enjoying yourself." 

Picard blinked at him. 

"There's no need to feel guilty, Jean-Luc. No one will be hurt by our absence. I give you my personal guarantee." 

Picard almost made a remark about the last time Q had said that...but he was too tired. Q seemed grateful for the moment of silence, and then nodded to himself. "Besides, I think I know something that might help. You want to go home now?" 

"It is late," Picard agreed wearily. 

They walked along the river as far as the aquarium, then turned towards the parking lot. 

"So save the bones...for Henry Jones...'cause Henry doesn't eat no meat." 

They looked at each other, then searched for the low voice of the singer. They found him under a light, strumming a guitar with slightly gnarled fingers. The man's skin shone almost blue-black in the glare, and when they neared him they saw he was missing several teeth. His clothes were torn and dirty. His voice was golden, husky and sad. 

"So save the bones...for Henry Jones...'cause Henry doesn't eat...no...meat." 

Q and Picard applauded and the man bowed slightly from his waist. 

"You got a request?" the man asked, his speech somewhat garbled. 

Q drew a hundred-dollar bill out of his pocket, folded over. The man's eyes showed clearly that he recognized the denomination anyway, and he smiled to reveal his ravaged gums. 

"Something happy," Q said dryly, dropping the bill in the man's guitar case. 

"You can't buy happy blues," the man groused. 

"Armstrong, then." 

That same red-gummed smile, and then a few chords Picard knew were in perfect tune. 

"I see trees of green," the man sang, "red roses too. I see them bloom...for me and you. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world..." 

Some tourists had noticed them, and moved somewhat drunkenly towards the circle of white light. They were quiet, though, and listened with respect. 

"I see skies of blue, and clouds of white. Bright blessed day, the dark sacred night. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world..." 

It was happening again, Picard thought. As it had a few nights ago in Q's starry blue bed. The entity was right. He was enjoying himself; this moment seemed an alignment of some sort of accidental perfection, and he was holding his breath in hope it would last to the end of the song. 

"The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky, are also on the faces of people going by. I see friends shaking hands, saying, 'How do you do?' They're really saying...I love you..." 

One of the tourists, a man in a yellow shirt, leaned down and slipped a dollar bill in the guitar case. 

"I hear babies cry. I watch them grow. They'll learn much more than I'll ever know. And think to myself, what a wonderful world. And I think to myself...what a wonderful...wonderful world." 

The applause went on for a while, and the man bowed again, casually scooping up some of the dollars in his case, including Q's. Picard wanted to add his own money, but didn't want to step on what had somehow become Q's gift. He settled for a smile instead, and got one in return, missing teeth and all. 

They walked to the car slowly, stretching out the moment now, contentedly. 

"This was nice," Picard made himself say in the car, watching Q drive. 

"Stop it, you're killing me," Q murmured back, and Jean-Luc chuckled. They let the silence take them back to the warehouse, then both kept their showers short and crawled into bed with obvious relish. 

"It's not so bad, sleeping," Q noted as he arranged the covers. "Once you get used to it." 

Picard grunted, half-asleep already. If Q snuggled up with him that night, he didn't wake up to notice. 

Q left early the next day to shop and Jean-Luc found that getting out the night before had helped clear his mind. In fact, he could see a way to use the processor chip more along the lines of its original function, which would help with efficiency. 

Q returned with more microchips, a lunch of sushi and miso soup, and a little box which he handed to Jean-Luc over the dining table. The lack of flourish did nothing to prepare Picard for what lay nestled inside. 

"Q..." 

"Yes?" Q sipped his soup. 

"Q, this looks like a wedding ring." 

"I know. I got myself one too." Q pulled it out of a pocket and slipped it on. "Lots of gay men wore them at this time to announce that they were taken and keep the gals away. It also signaled other gay men that the guy was probably in a relationship." 

Picard fought down the need to say that he wasn't a homosexual. Q was right. He was, for all practical purposes, posing as one. 

With a small sigh, he slipped the ring on his left hand and ate some sushi, then outlined his new design schematic to Q. 

"We've really got the thing designed now," Q noted, "about as well as we can with the tools we have. I think it should take about three weeks to get it all together." 

"Then we work on the power source," Picard agreed. 

Q nodded. They were designing the transmitter to be portable, durable, and almost indistinguishable from high-powered radio equipment of the period. It was now, with its guts exposed, that the historically inappropriate device was most vulnerable. 

They spent the afternoon in quiet assembly, then quit to watch the news on television. Picard almost fell asleep in his armchair, then willingly followed as Q led the way down the short hall. In the shower, he scraped his scalp unpleasantly with the gold ring, and thought about taking it off until he had need of it. But it made more sense to get used to the thing. It was heavy on his hand, somehow, though he wasn't surprised that Q had gotten one that fit perfectly. 

Q showered even more quickly than Picard and was waiting impatiently under the covers for the only thing that had kept him from going completely out of his mind over the past couple of weeks. He'd been more than a little horrified the first time he woke up with his body wrapped around Jean-Luc's, and he had tried very hard to make himself let go. But that classically proportioned body that glowed with the man's energy and intelligence had felt as good in his arms as he'd always imagined it would, and he couldn't release the sensation, couldn't roll over and ignore what he was getting away with touching. Instead, he'd very slowly maneuvered himself until they were connected even more completely, until Jean-Luc Picard was pressed up against his entire length: his chest, his stomach, his pelvis, his thighs, his calves, even the tops of his feet. 

He'd thought that Picard would attack him in the morning, savage him for having touched him without permission, but instead he'd woken up first himself, and quietly slipped out of bed, and evidently Jean-Luc had been none the wiser. 

Q was sure now, sometime in the past several days, that the captain must have awoken to find himself being cuddled, but Jean-Luc had said nothing, and Q wasn't about to question his good fortune. He supposed Picard felt he owed it to Q, and, frankly, Q agreed. Despite all the practice he'd put into being limited to Human sensations, having to deal with Human pains and inconveniences, he had still pleasantly surprised himself with his performance in this universe.   
_  
Of course, this wasn't quite how I planned to show off my abilities. Being this Human hardly does me any good at all, does it? Still, we're here, and when we get home together he'll trust me even more, and that's something. One day, Mon Capitaine..._ Q smiled in the dark. 

Picard came in a little later, and quietly slipped into the bed Q had so carefully and with such embarrassingly intense joy made for him. He felt the man settle, mocking himself for the pleasure of feeling that voluntary, if extremely light, touch when the man placed himself right next to Q. Long minutes passed, until Jean-Luc's breathing was slow and regular and deep. 

Still Q waited, until he couldn't stand it anymore, and then, very carefully, he placed his arm across the man's chest -- he would do no more, he told himself sternly, the way he always did, every night. In seconds, he had joined Jean-Luc in sleep. 

With one exception, the following two weeks passed by just as well as Picard could have hoped. He and Q got into the habit of reading the papers over breakfast, then would work in the warehouse, assembling the transmitter, until lunch, when they would go for a walk. Though Picard ran most mornings, he still enjoyed the stroll, and after a few days Q announced that exercise was much more pleasurable than he'd thought it would be. To Picard's surprise, Q drove off one afternoon to return with full running gear, and began to jog in the mornings as well, though he did not try to keep up with Jean-Luc. 

Except for Q's occasional shopping sprees, they would work through the afternoons until dinner, at which point they would usually eat out. The city was hardly without adequate restaurants, and they both began to think of it as their day's reward for hard work. They would come home from dinner and either work some more, or watch the news on television while reading, then go to bed. 

The warehouse began to take on true signs of their domesticity. Piles of books filled up the corners, until Q went out and made bookcases appear. Their auto-drip coffee maker hummed to itself in the mornings, and Q seemed to get amusement from seeing to it that there was always a pot of Earl Grey available during the afternoon and evenings, the little Twinnings tea bag wrappers lying on the counter until Picard gathered them up for the trash. 

Construction was on schedule, he and Q were getting along...everything was going better than Picard would ever have thought...except for that one thing. 

Picard had even begun to think of it that way, as The Thing. 

It had happened two nights after their bar-hopping excursion. Picard had been dreaming of something erotic, and awoke somewhat aroused. Q, of course, had been holding him, though he was not hard, and Picard had almost been able to chuckle about it and go back to sleep. But then Q had shifted slightly, almost caressing him as his arms changed position, and the pressure and ache between the man's legs had increased with a pulse. 

The sheer horror of the reality which confronted Picard that early morning had been so great he had not slept another moment, remaining virtually motionless until the dawn, breathing with conscious and deceptive smoothness, his erection lost as though it had never been and never would be again. 

After the blank white shock had worn off, after he'd made it past the almost overwhelming urge to ignore this -- as, he realized, he had done so well in the past -- Picard tried to understand how it could have happened that he had become attracted to Q. 

He wanted to believe it was an outcome of their situation. They were alone here, held together by so much, intimate in a way he had been with very few people. He was lonely. He was concerned about his crew. He was sexually frustrated. He was absolutely out of his mind. 

The day after the first time The Thing made itself known, Picard was almost able to make himself believe it wasn't true. In the daylight, Q looked the same as always, perhaps even a little old, as he appeared in his running clothes and set off down the street, waving goodbye. While Jean-Luc jogged along the river at somewhat faster than his usual pace, he thought of the dangerous callousness Q had often shown, the disregard of other people, the total lack of any sense of propriety or consideration. He reminded himself that while he was posing as a homosexual, he was quite heterosexual, and always had been. He thought of what it would be like to show vulnerability to Q, and then, having shown it, to return to their proper universe. 

He made himself see Q popping onto his bridge with a leer and letting everyone know he'd gotten into Picard's pants as a lark, perhaps passing intimate pictures around to see what they would do to Data's emotion chip. He forced himself to imagine Riker and Beverly and all the rest of them knowing that he'd been intimate with Q, focusing on every detail of the censure he'd receive. 

And even more damning than all this, he reminded himself of what Q actually was. A being who could not remember the beginnings of his existence. A being who had watched countless mortals die, who had claimed that Picard's kind were "always suffering and dying." What could sex mean to Q? Did he even understand the concept of wanting something? Whatever Q wanted, he had, the second he wanted it. 

Picard ran much father and harder than usual, and, as far as he could tell, all trace of any sexual attitude towards the entity completely disappeared before he made it back to the warehouse.   
_  
It was the closeness of being in bed together. Good Lord, he's been pressed up against me every night, and how long has it been since I've had someone doing that? Have I ever had anyone doing that? I can't hold myself in contempt for one moment of weakness.  
_  
Satisfied, if unsettled, Picard walked inside the fence to find Q stretching out in the driveway. When Jean-Luc joined him, Q turned with a smile and made a comment about the last gasp of New Orleans heat and the need for a city-wide cleaning service. He was shiny with sweat, and panting from his run, and as he spoke, his arms reached overhead while his long body seemed surprised with the simple motion attendant on being alive. 

And Jean-Luc realized his problem was much, more worse than he had thought. He wasn't simply attracted to Q. Attraction didn't feel like this, didn't hurt this much, didn't destroy his ability to breathe, didn't make him ache, didn't make him feel hopeless and desperate with the knowledge that there was no way in any universe that Q could possibly return in any manner the excruciatingly intense emotion he felt.   
_  
When did it happen? How did it happen?_ he asked himself. _How do I make it un-happen?  
_  
"That's an interesting expression, Jean-Luc. Did you pull a groin muscle?" 

Picard coughed and bent over in a stretch, missing the possessive spark in Q's eyes as they traveled over his body. They didn't make eye-contact again before Picard went inside for his shower. 

The morning went by seemingly as routine, with Picard disassembling Q's communicator for those parts which could not be jury-rigged with circuit boards and microchips. It was slow, delicate work, greatly complicated by the fact that Jean-Luc found it almost impossible to concentrate. Q was only a few feet from him, and he kept shifting his weight, moving around, making little noises which drew Picard's eyes to his tall body, and his mind to what he wanted to do to that body. 

Picard amazed himself with the direction and detail of his own thoughts. It were as if, having been forced into silence for so many years, his imagination were now on over-drive. He found himself envisioning Q stretched out over their blue bed, over the workbench in front of him, over a chair, up against a wall, on the floor...he thought of Q's eyes half-closed in pleasure, of listening to that voice -- suggestive and insinuating even at the best of times -- saying things to him, asking him to kiss him, to caress him, to stroke his nipples or his penis. 

Oh, damn, he almost dropped the processor. He had to concentrate, to focus, but there was Q now, sighing over something he was working on -- the attenuator -- and in his mind's private studio Picard made the sound one of passion. He thought of the heat of Q's body, so familiar to him now, pressed up not to his back, but to his front. He thought of those long legs -- getting even more defined with the running Q had been doing -- wrapped around his back or bent beneath him. The sheer eroticism of it all, of thinking not simply of the unfamiliar sex between two men, but of sex with Q, broke through every resolve, over and over, until finally he all but slammed his work down. 

Q looked up at him in surprise. 

"I'm hungry," Jean-Luc told him tightly. "You want a sandwich?" 

"It's still early for me. I'll get something later." 

Picard jerked a nod and strode into the kitchen. Q's shopping had filled it with useful and aesthetically engaging gadgets, without cluttering the place up. The captain had spent almost as much time in the room quietly looking around and feeling strangely at home as he had washing up or making a meal. Now everything reminded him of Q, and he kept his eyes strictly on his hands as he grabbed bread and some wrapped steak, cheese and deli horseradish sauce from the refrigerator. He toasted the bread, and cut himself three thin slices of meet, staring at his wedding ring while thinking about Q kneeling down in this kitchen, slowly reaching for him, slowly opening up his mouth and taking him inside -- 

"Damn!" He had sliced wickedly through his thumb. He help it up and watched the blood drip out with enthusiasm. It was a deep cut, and as he stared at it he realized it would take some time to heal. 

"What did you do?" Q demanded from the doorway, and Picard braced himself with a smile as he turned on the cold water and stuck his thumb into the flow. 

"Cut myself, obviously." 

Q stepped up close and Jean-Luc kept himself from leaning away only by staring at the lemon squeezer drying in the wooden rack. He could smell Q now, a little salt and a little soap, and of course he could feel his heat. 

"That looks bad." Q scowled. "You know Beverly's not here to heal it." 

"Obviously." 

"Well, you need to be more careful!" 

Picard was deadly calm. "I didn't cut myself on purpose." 

Q clamped his lips over his retort and then turned to walk out. "I'll buy some antiseptic and bandages." 

"It's only a cut on my thumb!" 

Q looked over his shoulder, and it occurred to Picard that he looked furious. "It's bleeding badly. Do you want it to get infected?" 

"Yes! I do!" 

Q snorted and stomped out, and Picard grabbed a paper towel from its chrome spool and wrapped it around his thumb, pressing hard and breathing harder. 

How could he do this? How could he live like this? 

Would Q get him naked, touch him until he was moaning, and then laugh at him? 

The car wasn't working right. He'd no more than tapped on the brakes and the ridiculous Stone-Age machine was skidding to a stop at the light. The light was broken as well, and took three times as long as it should to change back to green. It wasn't far too Walgreen’s Drugs, but he cursed each block, and when he got into the parking lot he almost ran over the girl pushing the Winn-Dixie shopping carts into a line because the child didn't look where she was going. 

It was no better in the store. People were standing around like Bolian cattle and the absurd decorations reminded him that Halloween (actually one of Humanity's most interesting holidays, but not right now) was approaching. He grabbed a basket and sped to the first-aid aisle, collecting wrapping bandages, antiseptic, Band-Aids, burn cream, aspirin, ibuprofen, Vaseline, cough drops, a thermometer, an ice pack, a heating pad, Preparation H, sleeping pills, hydrogen peroxide, cotton balls, iodine, triple-antibiotic ointment, rubbing alcohol, Vicks Vapo rub, Ambusol, gauze, tape, scissors, Visine, ipecac syrup, calamine lotion, baby powder, Q-tips, Benadryl, cough syrups -- one to soothe, one an expectorant -- anti-histamine/sinus medication, anti-fungal cream, Cortisone, and Ben-Gay. 

Q almost lost it, holding the last small packet of cream in his fist, standing in the glare of the fluorescent lights, unable to keep from thinking about what it would be like to rub the cream over Jean-Luc's aching shoulders. How could he have been so stupid? They could never take Picard to the hospital here, not with his mechanical heart. He should have been watching over Jean-Luc more carefully. What if he'd cut the thumb off? What if he had a problem bandages couldn't fix? 

Well, he could hack into the pharmacy's computer easily enough and get them prescriptions for some real drugs. And he certainly knew enough to treat Picard for several things. He had studied Humanity's anatomy very thoroughly, after all, though his motives had been quite different at the time. 

_Well,_ Q couldn't help thinking, even though he recognized the defensiveness of his humor, _some people have called it "playing doctor."_

The excuse for a joke steadied him. Picard wasn't going to drop down dead, and Q really could treat him for a number of things. They'd both just have to be careful. 

Q thought then that he'd better take good care of himself, as, if something happened to him, Picard would be alone, with no one to watch over him, and suddenly the entity was fighting tears. He'd never been so scared as he was watching the blood pour from Picard's thumb and having no powers to stop it. How did he get so useless? 

Grabbing up some large patch Band-Aids on the way, he walked quickly to the counter and paid for his mini-clinic, then took the bags to the car and drove quickly, but carefully, home. Picard was still in the kitchen, perched on the stool, his right hand wrapped around a paper towel around his thumb. 

"Good Lord, Q. Did you buy out the store?" 

"We have to take care of ourselves, Jean-Luc. We can't afford to get truly ill here." 

Picard listened to the censure in Q's voice, uncertain whom it was for. He tried saying gently, "Small accidents are bound to happen, but if we're careful we should be all right. I had my last physical not long ago." 

Q didn't answer, busying himself with unwrapping Picard's thumb and checking to see that the wound was clean and not bleeding any longer before he washed his hands and then applied the antiseptic, letting it dry before he wrapped it up snugly in two Band-Aids. Jean-Luc kept his eyes on the floor, and Q concentrated on keeping his breathing regular. Both of them felt the other's body heat. 

"You have quite the medicinal air about you," Picard murmured at one point to soothe his way through the involuntary movement he'd made when Q bumped his side. "I take it you studied Human physiology." 

"What there is of it." Then Q was throwing wrappers away and gathering up the bags to take them to Picard's bathroom. 

"Then if we get into trouble, between the two of us I'm sure we'll be able to treat ourselves." 

Q was going to snap at Picard for his complacency, then realized what he was really saying. The man trusted him to know what to do, to be able to handle this danger. He realized he'd better not look Jean-Luc in the eye for at least an hour. 

"We'll see," he managed, making it sound as cynical as he could, and got out of there. 

The afternoon went slowly for Picard. With his thumb bandaged, he couldn't do any delicate work, and the work he did on the transmitter casing involved a lot of mental cursing as his hands couldn't get a proper grip on the tools. Moreover, he could feel Q watching him, and he kept thinking of the entity's concern over his injury. Several times, he had to think of disgusting things to keep from betraying himself with an erection, particularly when Q suddenly appeared at his elbow and took his hand to inspect his thumb. He could feel himself trembling inside, and when Q suggested that they knock off early and watch some TV, he complied so willingly he thought for a second he'd completely given himself away. 

The evening went slowly for Q, and he had thought the afternoon was bad. Q could tell Picard didn't like the way he kept an eye on him, and when he'd touched his hand without permission, the man had all but jerked away from him. He'd hoped that the way they were pressed up in bed each night -- surely by now Picard knew about that -- would make the man more comfortable with being touched. Instead, he'd felt him almost shuddering with distaste. It angered him. He deserved better.   
_  
For what? For having set him up to become Locutus? Or perhaps you think he looks back fondly to those six hours you held him in the shuttlecraft?_

_The Enterprise will continue on with Riker as captain.  
_  
He'd actually made Picard say those words, made him think he might hold him for so long he'd lose his command. Jean-Luc had thought then that he was a monster, and he'd given the man cause to think it. It didn't matter what he'd done since then. It would never matter. 

"Don't believe him, Mom. He's never trusted me," Scully was saying, holding a gun on her partner while the hypnotic suggestions she'd gotten through the television kept her in a state of paranoia. There was more chance the rerun was suddenly going to go berserk and have Mulder and Scully's mother do the horizontal bop than there was Picard would ever really let him in. 

And yet, Q was proudly aware that he didn't regret what he'd done, not for a second. In fact, following Picard into an unknown universe through a "wormhole" created by his double had been the best thing he'd ever done in five billion years of a selfish existence. 

His double. Q found himself shaking his head slightly and stopped it before Picard noticed...not that he would, since the captain was staring at the television as though it were a Bajoran orb. To think that he'd actually felt sorry for his double as he passed through, hoping his "own" Jean-Luc was lost somewhere, not wanting to accept that the one he'd been dealt was the one he got. Q had believed at the time that at least he had been able to accept the Picard of his universe on his own terms. Unlike the other Q, he would love the one he got, and work hard on getting that love returned. 

But now look at him: stuck in the wrong universe, and evidently one without a Continuum. Even as a Human he should have been able to contact the Q here and get them home, so his unanswered calls meant that there were no Q here. Which also meant that whatever he was in this universe, he wasn't a Q. He assumed Picard hadn't been born yet. Perhaps his own double here was long dead. 

The Q who'd decided to go breaking into everyone's universe on his own little quest believed that in every universe there was a Q and a Picard who got together, as friends or lovers, but Q doubted it. Some things were a little fantastic even from a Q's perspective. Perhaps in this little universe, on this planet that looked quite likely to blow itself up soon, there wasn't even a Picard or a Q at all. Perhaps that's why they'd been drawn here when they were in the wormhole, to fill the vacuum. 

Picard moved slightly, and Q felt himself tense up. Were they finally going to go to bed? Since he'd seen the man's wound he'd wanted to wrap him up in his arms. He needed that heat against his belly that told him Picard was alive and safe. 

But the man padded into the kitchen in stockinged feet, and Q was left looking at the shoes Picard had slipped off. He was always doing that, always slipping off his shoes and leaving them in odd places. Q had picked them up and stored them in Jean-Luc's closet at first, but now just left them where they were. He didn't mind tripping over them every now and then. Hell, he wouldn't mind it if Picard left his briefs hanging from the light fixtures.   
_  
I'm really quite besotted,_ Q thought with resignation. _Have been for years. Will be forever. Do you even care that you completely changed my life, Mon Capitaine?_ Well, Q cared. He had to admit, he liked himself better this way, and he was getting on much better with his fellow Q now -- the civil war notwithstanding -- and he was quite prepared to wait however long it took to have Jean-Luc accept his feelings. He wasn't going to beg, but he wasn't ever going to let Picard die, and he'd promised himself some time ago that one of these millennia, at the very least, he was going to make the man orgasm with simple mental stimulation, and watch that face watch him while he did it. 

A few minutes passed and Picard came back in, holding a glass of something that smelled like brandy. 

"I was pouring one for myself and thought you might like some." 

"Yes, thank you, Jean-Luc," Q murmured, taking the snifter with care so that their fingers brushed slightly. A rush went through him, a precursor to the heat of the brandy down his throat, and he reminded himself about his own vow not to beg. 

He'd bought the brandy himself, and without having picked out the label while he still had his powers, so he was pleased that Picard liked the taste of it. It was earthy without being musty, strong without losing its overtaste, and when Jean-Luc returned with his own glass, they sat through the news together. 

"In science news," the well-coifed woman on the screen read from her teleprompter, "another attempt at cold fusion is currently being funded for a project at UCLA. Protests against government funding of what some people are calling 'pie in the sky projects' has been increasing, and the school issued a statement in defense of its exploration of alternative fuel sources." 

"Cold fusion?" Picard asked aloud as the news went to a commercial. "I remember some experiments with it around this time. They didn't really go anywhere..." 

"Well, they might be doing something new..." Q thought hard, something he didn't have to do often. "This business of protesting alternative energy sources comes from the Middle East's oil-backed money, and basic paranoia. The main argument against it is the risk of pollution. If you and I had some authentic-looking Greenpeace credentials, we could probably meet the scientists involved." 

To Q's surprise, Jean-Luc yawned even as he was nodding, smothering it with a hand. His face, now that Q allowed himself to look, was drawn and pale. "I'll need to read up for the role, but if they're making anything like progress, even in just having the right sort of equipment, it might be just what we need." 

"Go to bed, Jean-Luc. You're exhausted." 

"When I finish my brandy." 

Q bit his response back, but the lessening of tension they'd enjoyed was gone. With determination, Jean-Luc sipped his glass empty, then rose and disappeared into his bathroom, doubtlessly displeased with its new drugstore milieu. Q rose and poured the last of his brandy down his throat, then went into the kitchen for another, which he dispatched in one go, enjoying the unpleasant burn down to his guts, before he turned with resignation to his own evening shower. 

Picard stood very still, looking around him groggily. Was there anything at the drugstore Q hadn't bought? He found he was smiling to himself. This whole time, during this whole business with his thumb, he'd been more concerned with Q's anxiety than with his own injury. He was reminded sharply of when Eline, his made-up Resikan wife whom he'd grown to love so deeply, was so frightened by his first heart attack, and even in his pain he'd worried more at the thought of leaving her than at dying. The Thing was even worse than that: those feelings had been caused by his dream, at least in part. The Thing was all of his own making. 

He thought then with cruel sadness of what Q might think when he did die, as eventually he must. Q must have watched so many mortals he cared about die. Why hadn't he thought about that before, when he was judging Q so harshly for not caring about the eighteen lost members of his crew? How many millions of billions of beings had Q watched die? How did the entity manage to care about anyone else at all? 

Q cared about him, so much so that he'd followed him into this world, where Q was without his powers. The thought warmed him even as it emptied him, leaving nothing but longing. Q had offered to be without his powers for him before, though Picard had no doubts it was only to cause mischief. When he'd refused him, they'd met the Borg, which had led in time to Locutus... 

Did Q think he blamed him for Locutus? Did Q not realize Picard knew their early introduction to the Borg had saved Humanity? 

He realized he was holding a small box which Q had left on the counter, as though he wanted Picard to see it. Inside the box was a small tube, and written on the side of both the tube and the box was "Ben-Gay." He couldn't help feeling ridiculous as one of words held a new meaning for him he could just as well have done without, but as he realized what the cream was for, he had to fight the urge to clutch it to his heart. Was Q offering him a rub-down? The box seemed so deliberately placed there. Perhaps Q had a sore muscle of his own. He wasn't used to running... 

Picard groaned and leaned against the cool counter, his ringed hand clicking into a little puddle of water. He could only see Q lying on the bed as he rubbed down those long legs. 

He realized he was hard and almost reached down to touch himself. As he set the small box and its tube on the counter, however, he saw himself in the mirror: an old man, pale and tired, with a face of wrinkles and lines, small eyes smudged with pain. Moreover, he looked weak and fragile, and he felt stupid as a stump. The thought of his own needs disgusted him, and his erection wilted as he stripped off his clothes. He was done being laughable for the day. 

Not wanting to go through the trouble of redressing his small wound, he settled for a thorough sponge-bath. He found his pajamas on their hook, and smelled soap. When had Q run a load of laundry? 

For once, he beat Q to the bedroom, and laid down on his side of the blue-covered bed in hopes that he would fall asleep quickly, not waking up whenever Q chose to show himself. 

But instead, it felt horribly wrong to be here without Q next to him, and for the first time the room felt cold. His thumb suddenly decided to start hurting, and he kept turning over, as though his body were looking for something.   
__  
Did Q fall down or something?  
  
But no, the door opened at last, and Picard held himself very still, lying on his back with one arm over his head, breathing quietly, steadily, as the entity approached, stepped up the little wooden steps, and then got into bed with a minimum of fuss. Long minutes passed with nothing further, and Jean-Luc hated the fear he felt, hated himself for feeling that fear, until at last Q very slowly, very gently, draped an arm across his chest. Picard kept himself from sighing in relief, and though part of him wanted to get excited, the rest slid gratefully into sleep. 

New Orleans had made its fortune as a port, and was once the back-door of America. By 1999, the port wasn't much to speak of anymore, and New Orleans was basically a tourist town. However, the trappings were still there, and still functioning, if at a minimum. As Tchoupitoulas provided the first real street next to the river, it was lined along its riverside by train-tracks, and was frequently treated to the rumblings and whistle-blowings of freight cars loaded with oil, gas, and corn, and the like. The noise was considerable, but also surprisingly easy to get used to. The only time it was really bad was when some engineer leaned on the whistle as he passed right by the warehouse. 

The whistle was still going when Picard woke up. 

Q's erection was pressing into his backside. 

His own was pressing into his pajamas. 

He held himself perfectly still. Q's face was tucked into his neck and his warm arms were around him and except for the fact that he was absolutely terrified, the moment was bliss. Picard could feel his heart pounding, could feel his erection growing heavier, could tell that any moment he was going to do something inexcusable, something that couldn't be explained away. For the first time, he tried to pull, gingerly, out of Q's unconscious embrace. 

Q protested, holding him tighter and grinding his pelvis against his body. The length of him slipped into the crease of his cheeks, and Picard couldn't quite stifle his gasp. Oh, he knew for a fact if he woke Q up and asked him for sex the entity would comply. If the thought of it were abhorrent, he wouldn't be acting like this in his sleep. He could get Q to kiss his back and thrust against him and perhaps hold his hand while he came... 

_And then what? What would you do for the rest of the time you're stranded here with him? Fall ever more in love with him? Do you think you'd have any sort of a life together back on the Enterprise? Will Q settle down on the ship and be your wife?_

_If I'd known about it sooner, I would have appeared as a female._

Picard breathed a soft moan at the words' memory, and that damn ring around his finger was pinching at him. He couldn't help but wonder if he should be grateful Q had never made good his threat. What if Q had appeared as a woman? Would he have resisted him better or worse? Would they have made love in the shuttlecraft, that first time he'd felt what would later grow into The Thing? Would he have simply taken Q up on his offer to spend eternity with him after he'd been shot by the Lenarians? Would he be able now to turn to Q and make love with her without worrying about the consequences? 

Yes, even now it was good that Q was a man. He had very little idea how to proceed with a man's body for a sexual partner, and it was somewhat difficult to believe he wanted something as extreme as anal penetration. 

On the other hand, it was far too easy to imagine Q's long-fingered hand around his penis, to say nothing of Q's mouth -- 

Picard moved with determination from the circle of Q's arms, and with a grunt the entity finally let him go. Picard realized Q had only remained asleep because of the brandy they'd drunk. Moving with difficulty around the weight between his legs, he got out of the room and into his own bathroom, where he did not turn on the light. 

Bracing himself against the counter with his left hand, he pushed his pajama bottoms down with his right and slid his palm along his swollen length, breathing through another moan. 

_This is Q's hand, touching me in the dark. Somehow I've made him understand this is important to me. He doesn't feel like he's masturbating an animal as an experiment. He wants to be here. He's excited too, and realizes...oh...ohhh..yes..._

"Ohhhh," he breathed into the dark, his hand working the precum over his shaft, around the crown, down to his testicles, and yet there was still more of it. Years' worth of it. Had he only been attracted to Vash because she reminded him of Q? Had he kept away from committing himself to Beverly because he wanted to keep himself free for Q? Had he ever wanted something in his entire life as much as he wanted sex...no, not simply sex from Q, not simply Q's hand here instead of his own, but all that such a replacement would signify? He didn't just want Q to make love with him, he wanted Q to love him. He wanted them to be in love with each other. 

And instead, he was standing in his bathroom in the dark, jerking off without making too much noise. 

_This is Q's hand. He's watching me and he likes what he sees. He's hard and pressed against me. This is...yes...yes...right there...Q's hand!_

He came, quietly, the heat rushing up from his thighs and out over his fingers. There was quite a bit of semen, evidence of the time he'd spent alone, and, after he recovered, he turned on the harsh light -- avoiding the mirror as much as he could -- to make sure he cleaned it all up with tissues. 

He sponged himself off as well, not wanting there to be a smell, and then clicked off the light and felt his way through the dark hall back to the television room. There was no way in any universe he could spend the rest of this night in bed with Q. 

Q slept heavy, and woke up thick-headed. But his body knew Picard hadn't been in the bed for some time. The sheets and his stomach were too cold, and his arms were restless with nothing to hold on to. 

Jean-Luc proved to be in the kitchen, just finishing up a stack of pancakes with syrup that Q had smelled in the hallway. He looked to the stove with frown, saw Picard had set aside the batter for his breakfast, and moved to set the pan over the burner. 

"Brandy makes you hungry the next morning too?" Picard asked softly, and Q nodded. He was starving, and the batter seemed to take forever to puff up as he hovered over the stove with a coffee cup in one hand and a spatula in the other. 

"Q," the captain said softly, hesitantly, sending Q's whole body into Alert Status One. "What would you think about getting a sofa?" 

Q turned his pancake over, let it heat through, transferred breakfast to his plate, sat down across from Picard and looked at him with overt determination. 

"You stop sleeping in my bed and this partnership is over." 

Picard's eyes widened slightly. Thirty seconds went by while he thought of his response and Q chopped a section off of his pancake and ate it. 

"I don't mean to sound heartless," Picard said finally. "But perhaps if you could explain why it's important to you. I'm tired of not discussing waking up at night to find us...as we are." 

Q swallowed down a thick mouthful of pancake. He wondered if swallowing while he wanted to choke would give him hic-coughs again. "The Continuum is created of Q, Jean-Luc, and only Q. Being there is an intimacy at once reassuring and terrible. Since the War, we've been trying to keep it on the reassuring side. Sleep requires me to drop all my shields, my awareness. You know that it terrifies me." 

"Having me...close helps you, then?" 

"Of course. We may not be friends, Jean-Luc, but we're something to each other. It helps. Is it really such torture for you?" 

Picard was staring at his plate, even as he slowly shook his head. "No. It's fine. I just needed some air last night." 

"The window opens." 

Picard looked up then and smiled, as though Q were a stranger at a party. "All right." 

As far as Q was concerned, it was their last conversation of consequence for two weeks. 

They finished up the transmitter, except for the modifications it would need when they knew their power source. Q got a highly sensitive burglar system installed (unbeknownst to their landlord), and arranged for a meeting with the two scientists who just perhaps were about to make the most important breakthrough in Human history since opposable thumbs. 

That last bit had been much more difficult than Q had anticipated. As it turned out, the two scientists, Dr. Janet Lancet and Dr. Connie Steward, were both women, which meant in this primitive era that every organization in the world wanted a piece of their time. They supported more institutions and causes than Q suspected they realized, and though Q had gotten himself and Picard Greenpeace credentials that made them look like the personal creators of trees, still he'd been blocked from an actual meeting until he'd made a sizable contribution towards the cold fusion project and set up a trust fund for Young Scholars of Fill-in-The-Blank. He'd had to spend a whole day market-trading to make sure their finances weren't affected. He also got them plane tickets on the safest airlines of the time -- except for Quantas -- and then carefully arranged for everything they'd need in Los Angeles. 

Picard commented little on any of this. His routine had altered after that morning and Q's ultimatum. He worked, somehow, twice as hard, sparing time only for his rigorous exercise, quick meals, and sleep. 

From the beginning, the nights had been important for Q, but in those two weeks, they were absolutely essential. Picard's conversation dwindled down to grunts and monosyllables. He never smiled, never joked, never even seemed to notice Q's acerbic comments or ironic commentary. Many times Q felt he was there alone, and seemed to be talking primarily to himself. The balance which he had managed to maintain before was gone, and the strange sort of enjoyment he'd derived from working with Picard on such a simple task as building an inter-universal transmitter with what Spock -- in a similar situation Q had learned about when he was researching Enterprise captains -- would have called "stone knives and bearskins" -- was lost to a desperate determination. Annoying tasks became onerous, hours dragged even when Jean-Luc was standing right next to him, and he considered several times telling the man that he did not have to sleep with him anymore, on the chance that it might improve Jean-Luc's mood. 

But those hours in bed could not be sacrificed. In fact, sleeping had actually become better in some ways since that morning, since Q no longer had to make any pretenses about what he was doing. Now, when Picard came to bed, Q reached for him, neither of them saying a word as Jean-Luc allowed Q to settle him again his belly, wrap him in his arms, and tuck his face into his neck. True, Picard held himself somewhat stiffly at first and seemed to take longer to get to sleep, but once he was breathing steadily, Picard's body would almost seem to press back against him, and at times he would move with Q to accommodate a change in position, all fluid movement and warmth, power carefully contained with rest. 

Picard didn't even say anything about the few times now Q had awoken to find himself with an erection, pressing himself against a hip or flank in his sleep. He could only assume Jean-Luc knew, which finally put to rest the question of whether the captain were aware of Q's sexual interest in him. It was a strange sort of victory to have it out in the open like this without witnessing a Picard-style hysterical reaction. In his own very quiet way, Jean-Luc seemed to be accepting that Q lusted after him, and though it was obvious Picard did not return the attraction...well, it was still something. 

The morning of their flight to the Coast, Q woke up in bed alone, only a residual warmth between the sheets and Picard's unmistakable, spicy smell left to tell him he hadn't spent the night that way. Though their flight wasn't until the late afternoon, they'd already packed, Jean-Luc's face set in grim lines as he put his suit into his garment bag, not saying a word as Q quietly fussed with toiletries and a traveling first-aid kit. 

Domesticity, as nauseating as it was, had become all Q had anymore. Picard's silence prevented any other outlet for the entity's emotions, which were threatening constantly to boil over. Somewhere in the last two weeks Q had taken to following Picard at a distance on his morning run, though he had to take short-cuts and detours, keeping the captain in sight for about half the time. As much as Q hated to clean, their living quarters were spotless, and he had fallen into the habit of keeping his eyes open for anything he needed to buy to increase Picard's comfort or safety. 

Q knew he was pushing his own limits, and he also knew he'd become even more irritable than Picard was, providing his own daily supply of grunts and monosyllables. A stranger watching them would have thought them enemies sharing a jail cell. Q knew would give just about anything to change things, to return to the easy camaraderie of their first days here. 

But nothing occurred to him, 2005 IQ or not. And only that moment when Jean-Luc slid voluntarily, if somewhat reluctantly, into his arms each night kept him from exploding...though he had started to map out very elaborate schemes to buy some TNT and turn a few abandoned buildings into rubble, just to feel like a Q again. 

"We're out of milk," Picard noted as Q entered the kitchen. 

"I didn't want to leave any to spoil while we were away. There's cream." 

Picard grunted. 

"If you don't like the way I order groceries, do it yourself!" 

Picard scowled at him, but didn't really meet his eyes, muttering finally, "I was only noting it," as he got the cream from the fridge and poured some into his coffee and then into Q's. "Perhaps we should just have a list somewhere, and write down what's needed." 

"Fine." 

The day dragged its tense and weary way to four o' clock, as they checked over the modifications to the security system, tidied up, made sure escrow had closed on their back-up residence, and brushed up on their Greenpeace reading. 

They left the warehouse an hour and ten minutes before their flight. It was Q's turn to drive, and he made it to the airport in twenty-five minutes, never going over the speed limit, never changing lanes unnecessarily. He checked the rear-view constantly, and almost started shouting when the pick-up in front of him swerved over without signaling. 

But they did make it safely, parking in the airport lot for ten dollars a day, before they carried up their bags to American Airlines and walked to the A-6 terminal. 

According to the news, airport security had been almost doubled since the suitcase full of plastique and nitro had exploded in the mail terminal at O'Hare seven weeks ago. Walking away from the metal detectors with their X-rayed bags over their shoulders, Picard murmured to Q, "That might be a problem, later." 

"We should think about getting a charter jet," Q responded. "Though the licenses are somewhat extreme, unless we do the straight rental." 

Picard said nothing more to Q until they had checked in at the gate and settled themselves with their bags. Boarding didn't begin for another twenty minutes. 

"Q, have I really let as much time go by as I think I have without complimenting you on how well you're doing?" 

"Meaning?" 

Picard blinked at him again. "Meaning I've probably been remiss in not letting you know more often that this has to be utter hell for you, and that I appreciate..." Picard sighed. "I just appreciate it." 

Q scowled at him. "Save it for your personal log." 

First class loaded first, and they made short work of stowing their bags and settling in. Picard, to Q's muted surprise, took the glass of champagne, and soon got a second. Q checked his seatbelt and discretely checked Picard's. He looked over the flight attendants to see who was least unintelligent, and made a mental chart of their relative position to all the escape hatches. He listened carefully to each sound around them, and made sure Picard had nothing sharp pointing at him. He looked over his blanket and pillow (and Picard's, covertly) and then watched silently as the captain set himself into his chair and closed his eyes. 

The take-off was smooth enough, and Picard seemed to doze successfully, until somewhere over Arizona. 

The turbulence was nothing remarkable at first. In fact, Q was surprised when they suspended beverage services. 

"Makes me realize I've failed to appreciate inertial damnpeners," Picard mumbled, shifting in his seat. 

About five minutes later they hit an air pocket that made someone behind them gasp. 

Picard shifted again, and muttered, "They should try to climb above this." 

"I'm sure the pilot had that course." 

Picard shifted again. 

"Is there something wrong with your seat? They have a couple empty ones in the front --" 

"Stop it! I can't stand your constant --" 

"This is the captain speaking. Sorry about the turbulence, but I thought you'd like to know we've been given clearance to climb above the clouds, and should find some clearer weather soon." 

Picard crossed his legs and leaned his head back against his seat, rigid in his resting pose. Q snorted. 

The plane dropped about three feet. Some people in coach actually shouted in alarm. 

Picard looked at Q, then down at his own body where Q's hands were holding him into his seat by the shoulder and hip, then back into Q's eyes, seeing clearly the fear there, and that it was not fear for himself. 

He took the hand on his hip and encased it in his two hands, rubbing slightly to warm those long fingers. 

"We'll be all right, Q. A little plane ride is nothing compared to falling through the barriers of the universe." 

The plane jerked again, but they didn't stop looking at each other. 

"I can't stand this," Q hissed over the roar of the plane's engines. "I can't stand being unable to do anything, if something should happen...I hate this. From now on we're going to drive everywhere." 

"We're going to be fine, Q." 

Another bout of turbulence threatened to rattle Q apart, and Picard could feel the strain through his companion's body, in his eyes, in the thin line his full lips had become. 

Without thinking about it, he pulled up the armrest between them and turned slightly until he was leaning back against Q's chest, letting those long arms wrap around him. He briefly met the eyes of the couple across the aisle and saw the way they frowned, the man in particular, before they turned away in indignation. 

Jean-Luc ignored them. Q's body was relaxing against him even as the plane continued to rock about. And his own tension was easing as well. His gut still twisted at each jerk, but he was no longer in danger of running to the cockpit and pushing the pilot out of the way. 

Q sighed, his breath warm on Picard's ear and neck. It brought back memories. 

"Thank you, Jean-Luc." 

_Anything for you,_ he thought, and so had to settle for a nod to Q in response. Less and less now was he trusting his own ability to keep from saying the wrong thing. He'd been a bastard the past two weeks. He knew that. And yet, even now, while the plane tried to climb over the turbulence and Q's arms sought only to hold him in place, he could feel the flicker of his own arousal. It would be easy to imagine Q's touch changing, bringing him an irresistible pleasure... 

_Cold fusion. Most of the scientific community is treating it as a hoax. How heavily guarded will the equipment be? Will they have anything we can actually use? Why haven't those damn scientists published anything worthwhile on it yet?_

But it was no use. The plane was leveling off now, and the ride was smooth again, and Q's arms were both dangerous and comfortable, and he'd slept so little last night... 

Q felt Picard's head fall back against him and smothered a snort of surprise. _Honestly, Mon Capitaine. I think you could sleep anywhere._

The man across the aisle was giving him the skunk eye. Q looked over his rather unimpressive body and made a moue of distaste. The man's eyes narrowed, but he obviously wasn't going to make anything of it. He buried himself in his magazine and Q let his eyes close, bowing his head over Picard's and letting himself drift...just a bit. 

Senior Flight Attendant Ruth Fordham looked over the cabin with satisfaction. Considering the rough ride, the passengers had been very good. No screaming, no running around, no hysterics that needed to be slapped. 

_Well, too bad about that,_ she thought very privately, eyeing the yuppie couple who were still making little faces of distaste at the gay couple sleeping in each other's arms across the aisle from them. She wouldn't have minded administering a few slaps on some people today. 

She found her gaze lingering on the sleeping men. They made a nice contrast, one tall and the other compact. Both were obviously in good shape, and though she didn't usually care for bald men, she found herself making an exception for the shorter one. They'd been a little edgy about flying earlier, she'd noticed. It was awfully cute how they'd settled down once they got all snug against each other. 

The pilot called in, and with regret she walked to the men and gently placed a hand on the tall one's shoulder. They woke up together, she noted, brown and hazel eyes snapping open to look at her in curiosity. 

"I'm sorry," she said in her gentle voice, "but we're landing. We need you to raise your seatbacks." 

They nodded, and the taller one rubbed at his eyes. She turned to the couple across the aisle and repeated her instructions somewhat more briskly, then locked up a tray table and opened the curtain between first class and coach. 

Picard looked out the window while his body finished waking up. Los Angeles looked brown and flat. The freeways reminded him of poorly tied bandages. Would it all be obliterated in this Earth's WW III as well? 

As much as he enjoyed Earth's early 20th Century in his Dixon Hill programs, and despite the fond memories he had of the people of the 21st, Jean-Luc realized he would always associate the late 20th Century not only with his adventure here, but also with a fundamental sorrow. Such a waste. So much that could have gone right and didn't. Were any of the people around him going to live to see the world they thought would happen, or would they end up in the "real" version of Q's courtroom? 

He turned away and met Q's eyes. 

"There's nothing you can do, Jean-Luc." 

"I know." 

Very carefully, they maintained their truce by saying not another word as the plane landed, taxied and then let them off into the stale air and busy, shop-lined corridors of LAX. The silence held until the limo ride to the hotel. 

"It's not so bad," Q noted quietly as they were heading down Wilshire. 

"What?" 

"Being driven around. Perhaps we should get one in New Orleans." 

"No." 

"But it might be safer to --" 

"I'm not going to be driven about!" 

"You don't seem to mind it now." 

"Right now I'm in a strange city and I'm just going to the hotel. You did rent us a car for later, didn't you?" 

Q looked at him. 

"Q..." 

"When, exactly, did I become your servant?" 

"You wanted to make all the arrangements!" 

"That doesn't mean they're now subject to your review." 

"So I'm just supposed to do whatever you say we should?" 

"Would it kill you to pick up the phone every now and then?" 

Picard turned away to look out the tinted window, determined to keep his breathing normal even if he passed out. 

Q turned away as well, trying to get his fists to loosen. 

"Fags," the limo driver thought in professionally concealed disgust. 

The limo reached Beverly Wilshire Hotel twenty minutes later, and the driver helped them with their bags before Q tipped him the minimum and followed the bellboy and Picard inside. Jean-Luc walked directly to the registration desk, pulling out his Omega American Express. 

Q wound up in the gift shop again, though he bought nothing. There were several magazines featuring news of the day, and none of them had any mention of cold fusion on their covers. The usual toiletries and knick-knacks were lined up on the shelves as well. He found himself staring at a sweatshirt which read "Los Angeles, It's a (Golden) Frame of Mind." When Picard appeared and jerked his head towards the exit, Q followed him to the elevator, and then rode up to the 7th floor in silence. 

The suite was airy and spacious, and the bellboy was ready to unpack for them. Q gave him a nice tip and ushered him out, and then they put away their own gear until both cases were empty. 

"I'm not hungry," Q said. 

"No. Neither am I. Our meeting is early..." 

"I'll shower first, if you don't mind." 

"Go ahead." 

Q made it quick, and came out in his pajamas and a whirl of steam. He noted with some concern that Picard seemed to have done nothing while he was bathing but sit in the chair by the window, but Q said nothing. 

Jean-Luc walked into the bathroom with his pajamas in his hand and closed the door, then stood there a long while. He had gotten into the habit of masturbating in the shower before having to deal with Q's night-long embrace, but right now he knew he wasn't up to it. He found himself again looking in the mirror. What was it about 20th Century bathrooms that made him look so bad? His skin looked pallid and his face was a mess of wrinkles. His bald head shone, his left ear stuck out, his nose was too big, his lips too small, his eyes weary little slits. 

He took his shirt off, still staring. His chest hair was almost all gray now, and the skin under his arms was looking old. The pants next, and he was looking at his skinny legs, and his flattened rear end. His cock was still long, the tip showing pink, the white foreskin still smooth, and his balls hadn't dropped too far yet. The hair was a little darker as well. 

Was the skin over his knees starting to bag slightly? Did his hands look withered? 

He closed his eyes and turned away, then opened them and stepped into the shower, but even there he found the texture of his skin rough and dry. He hurried through the soaping and rinsing, and got lather in his eyes. In disgust he stepped out and dried off, not looking in the mirror, not thinking about anything until he was in his pajamas and opening the door. 

The bedroom was dark, but the large bed was easy to find. Turning off the bathroom light, he walked forward slowly, found the edge of the mattress, and felt his way to the top of the covers. He pulled them down and got under them, helped by hands which brought him deeper into the bed, settled him down against Q's body, and then moved around to hold him close. He wanted to say goodnight, and didn't. 

Sleep was almost impossible, and when Picard finally managed it, slumber was shallow and restless. He knew he was turning and twitching, and that Q's body moved often to accommodate him. The hours passed somehow, a dotted line of consciousness which brought him past midnight before he woke up to realize that The Thing had once again ambushed him. 

He was hard. 

Fortunately, he was still pressed up to Q on his back side, and Q himself appeared to be deeply asleep. The only danger came from Q's right hand, which was hanging slightly over his hip, and thus far too close to discovering -- 

Oh dear. The hand was moving. He had to turn around so it didn't touch him. It was probably the feel of that weight on his hip which had gotten him aroused in the first place. 

He began to roll slightly away, but Q moved with him as though it were choreographed, and the hand moved around until it was resting on his erection. 

He stopped breathing, his whole body tense. 

_Please, Q. Don't wake up._

"Jean-Luc?" 

Picard breathed out and in, as slowly as he could. 

"Jean-Luc?" Q's hand curled slightly around him, very gently. "It's all right." 

Picard felt himself getting harder. The silk of his night clothes moved with Q's hand as it very slightly caressed him. When he didn't object, Q's touch became a little bolder, pressing a little more firmly against him. Jean-Luc realized he was shivering, and that his breathing was getting harder as well. 

Q realized with surprise that he wasn't getting aroused. He felt aroused, but the flesh pressed against Jean-Luc's hip didn't stir. Perhaps he was simply too nervous, too astounded by what he was doing. Ever-so-carefully, he let his fingers move up and down the length of him, trying to figure out how to get the pajamas out of the way. Picard was going to freak out any second now, push him away, curse him, refuse to sleep with him anymore. 

And yet, for now, Jean-Luc was responding. When he moved his hand down to cup his sac, the man actually breathed out hard enough to make a near-moan. 

His left hand was trapped under Jean-Luc's body. He had to take the risk of moving his right hand up and then under the waistband, sliding down to find that firm warmth again. 

He couldn't help a start of surprise. The smooth foreskin had pulled far down the shaft, and the moist skin beneath was so soft, softer than the silk he wore, softer than Q's own penis had felt in his hands those times he'd had to resort to jerking off in the bathroom before he could trust himself to go to bed. Trying to keep from panting in Jean-Luc's ear, he wrapped his hand around the shaft, and let his thumb move over the blunt head, making a sort of circle, around and around. 

Picard seemed to move just slightly in protest. 

"Don't worry," Q whispered, hardly knowing what he was saying, desperate for more. "I don't mind. It might help you to sleep." 

Jean-Luc gasped a laugh. Yes, now he could understand this. Q was taking care of him again, protecting him, catering to him. Humoring him. 

And yet, this wasn't an experiment, nor was it done of simple curiosity, or contempt. 

Picard felt the slickness of Q's touch now, the thumb spreading his precum over his head. The fingers were working as well, moving his foreskin slowly up and down. The simple sensation was beginning to take him over. How often had he dreamed of this as he worked his hand over himself? Q's body was so warm against him, his touch so gentle and tender, and if it weren't so obvious Q wasn't getting excited he could almost believe this was a mutually fulfilling experience. 

The touch grew firmer now, more purposeful, and Jean-Luc realized he wasn't going to stop it. Behind his closed eyes, the image returned: himself standing in their kitchen while Q went on his knees, taking him in his mouth. 

He moaned, his hips thrusting into the warmth of Q's hand, and now the caresses were targeting that spot under the head. He felt himself getting close. 

And then he thought of what that would mean: his semen, in the bed, in Q's hand. There wouldn't be much, not with his recent nightly routine, but it would be so real, so undeniable, and he thought of Q's fastidiousness. 

"Q," he whispered. "I'm...doesn't this feel...ohhhhh...feel disgustingly mortal to you?" 

Q broke himself out of his dream of stroking Jean-Luc with his lips and tongue instead of just his hand, which slowed slightly. "You feel like..." silk, velvet, perfection, Heaven, poetry, fire, some sort of erotic masterwork, a reason for existence..."my friend." 

_Just this once,_ Picard begged of himself. _Just this one time._ His eyes closed again, and there was nothing but the warm dark and Q's hand, stroking hard now, bringing him to the edge. 

"You feel strong," Q said, his voice a new caress. "Strong the way you always are." 

Very quietly, his teeth clamped down on the words he might say, he came. The pleasure of it was strained, but fierce, and it built up sharply at the very end, making him tremble and gasp, little shocks running through him as Q's hand moved up to contain the thick semen, and, as Jean-Luc had thought, there wasn't much of it. 

Afterwards, he lay there in a relief so profound he felt dopey. He thought of moving, of speaking. 

"Go to sleep, Jean-Luc," Q murmured, and the captain felt his eyes closing. He was so tired. Q moved slightly away, and turned around, drawing his left arm out from under him, doubtlessly reaching for the box of tissue on the nightstand. 

Yes, there was the quiet "swish" of a tissue, and now there was nothing left but to fall into the slumber he had been chasing for weeks, a true rest which kept him from knowing that Q spent quite some time turned from him, holding the unused tissue in one hand while he slowly and silently licked the bitter-salt cum from his fingers. 

_Riiiiing! Riiiiing!_

"Hello?" 

"This is your seven o' clock wake-up call, Mr. Picard." 

"Thank you." 

Q opened his eyes and watched Jean-Luc replace the receiver, then sit up. He looked down at Q and nodded. 

"Breakfast should be here soon. I'll take the bathroom first, if you don't mind." 

"Not at all." 

Picard nodded again and threw back the covers before walking out. When the door closed, Q let his eyes shut again, running his tongue around his mouth, seeking the taste of something long gone. 

He'd thought it was a dream at first, a dream where his hand was resting on Jean-Luc's erection. Only when it had occurred to him what a horrible mistake he might have made did he snap awake, and then... 

He'd done so many sexual acts in his life. Could he really think holding some man's cock in his hand was so different, so special? 

It has nothing to do with his cock. 

Should he have tried for more last night? Perhaps he could have taken Jean-Luc into his mouth. 

Q smothered a groan and got out of bed, shoving the covers back roughly, not wanting Picard to see him in bed when he came out. 

_If he ever comes out of there. He's using up all the hot water. This is Los Angeles, you know. They don't have a lot of the stuff to spare. Hell hole. ___

__Someone knocked on the door, and Q felt himself go into a sort of pre-crouch._ _

__"Yes?"_ _

__"Room service."_ _

__Q fetched his bathrobe and opened the door to demure woman who rolled in their tray with an equally demure smile. He tipped her to make her go away, then felt his stomach roll at the sight of the food. A cup of coffee had been forced down by the time Picard emerged, and Q brushed past him before he closed the door, scowling at the steam. The water left red marks on his stomach, and the soap bottle fell out of his hands, landing on his toe. Finally, he placed his hands on the yellow tile and closed his eyes, letting his head hang forward._ _

__The weight between his legs needed, but the thought of touching himself repelled. In a fair universe, he could call Jean-Luc in here and demand that he take care of it._ _

__"Ohhhh," he breathed out, very quietly. The images came to him, so many to choose from. And today he was evidently seeking something novel. So often had he thought of that erection in his mouth, he could almost control his response to the familiar there. But now different images came: Jean-Luc not touching or kissing or even sucking him, but Jean-Luc on his elbows and knees, moaning for more while Q plunged inside him, into all that tight heat and strength, muscles and sinews pulled tight._ _

___You feel so good, Q. I love it. More. More of your cock. More of you._ _ _

__It were as though he could hear Jean-Luc's voice, and he knew he was borrowing on some of the knowledge he'd gained watching Picard with Vash -- what a self-revealing moment of torture that had been! But he was also using the way Jean-Luc felt against him in bed, and those little gasps he had made as Q had touched him last night._ _

___How did that happen? Can I make it happen again?_ _ _

__Q's eyes opened into the steam of the shower. His hand, inevitably, had found his erection. It wouldn't take much more, and he'd spill himself into the polluted water that these people had to use, living here in the desert. Horrid water. Who even knew where it had been?_ _

___Harder, Q. I love it. More of you._ _ _

__He’d been Human too many days. He came, and it was only relief, and not much relief at that. He rinsed quickly, the water's heat making him feel faint, and then moved through the rest of the tiresome Human grooming process until he was ready to go into the bedroom and finish getting dressed._ _

__Jean-Luc was drinking coffee and reading the paper. He looked up sharply when Q, dressed in his suit, walked towards the breakfast cart for a roll._ _

__"There's been another terrorist bombing at an airport. The JFK."_ _

__"World's going to hell."_ _

__Q made himself eat the entire roll with butter and jelly. Picard seemed to find it odd that he ate standing up. They made eye contact when it was time to go, and then went to the limousine Q had arranged._ _

__At the end of the 20th century, the medical building at UCLA was the second largest building in America. When Picard and Q checked in at the security desk, it took some doing to assure the personnel that they knew what office they wanted, and where it was located. Both of them had memorized the layout of the complex, as Q had already hacked into the computer system as much as he could. The cold fusion research was not simply well-protected, but kept separate from the mainframe. However, he had already learned most of the passwords he would require, should this trip prove worthwhile._ _

__Drs. Lancet and Steward were not in the Better Homes and Gardens-style office when the "Greenpeace Heavy-Weights" entered, but it didn't take long for the door to open again and admit them._ _

__Janet Lancet was a tall woman with long brown hair and dark brown eyes. Her smile was false without apologies, and her handshake absently bruising. Connie Steward was shorter, with very thin gray-black hair draping lightly over a magnificently shaped cranium, and darkly arched brows over hazel eyes. She didn't bother to smile, but her handshake was cordial in its no-nonsense fashion._ _

__"We've already assured everyone we could that our research is not a threat to the environment," Steward stated, "but we're happy to do our part to work with environmental groups like yours at any stage of our work."_ _

__Dr. Lancet grunted. "Oh, we're always thrilled to hold anybody's hand."_ _

__Steward threw Lancet a look, then smiled at the men again. "I've looked over the letters you sent, and, I must say, your understanding of our work is impressive. One doesn't usually meet people from Greenpeace who have such a sound understanding of physics."_ _

__"We do our best," Q said in a tone only Picard could know was subdued._ _

__"It's precisely that understand which should make you realize your fears are unfounded," Lancet put in, uncrossing her legs and sitting forward impatiently._ _

__"Are we to understand that you've changed your minds about showing us your work?" Q asked._ _

__"Of course not," Steward assured them. "In fact, if you're ready..." She stood up, and the others followed._ _

__Picard and Q dropped back slightly as the scientists led them down a corridor._ _

__"Q," the captain whispered. "Am I completely mistaken, or --"_ _

__"Yes," Q hissed. "They are."_ _

__"Here we go," Steward said with a smile, opening up a thick door with a swipe of her ID card. There was a long buzz, then they were evidently cleared. Q and Picard had both counted ten uniformed guards by the time they reached the lab._ _

___Their heat ratio is all wrong_ , Q thought, _but that can be fixed.__ _

___We'd need a more efficient filtering system, but nothing we couldn't jury-rig at home,_ Picard noted. _ _

___Getting the parts sent to the blind address won't be hard, but the customs might be tricky._ _ _

___They're using far too much shielding. We could cut the size of the processor unit by a fifth._ _ _

___Look at those injector points! You can really tell Humans built this!_ _ _

___What's the uranium for? Oh, I see. Well, we certainly won't need that. Iron would do better, and I'm sure we can get that shipped easily enough, though it will need to be pure._ _ _

__"Considering the trouble we're taking, and the lost time for our research," Lancet snapped, "the two of you could at least listen a little more carefully. This isn't kindergarten, you know!"_ _

__"Our apologies," Picard said with a smile while Q simply sneered._ _

__"Have you and I met somewhere before?" Steward asked Q._ _

__"No."_ _

__"We're just taken in by all the work that you two have done here," Picard went on smoothly. "It's really an amazing leap forward, considering the state of cold fusion research before you two came on the scene." He gestured around the lab. "We're watching the future take shape here."_ _

__Lancet looked mollified and offered to show them the venting system._ _

__"Would you mind a question about your computer security?" Picard asked a few minutes later as they were being shown out. "We have several back at the office who've voiced concerns about the dangers of hackers."_ _

__"Our system is completely self-contained," Steward said with a half-smile. "UCLA has its own server, and we get our own little section of it, with no data interfacing."_ _

__"How clever of you," Q announced somewhat dryly. Lancet eyed him, but no other comment was made before they were back at the lovely (and somewhat unused-looking) office in which they had met._ _

__"Will you be staying on the campus today? They're having a lovely free jazz concert in Royce Hall," Steward said while Lancet looked at her watch._ _

__"We'll try to catch it," Picard said with a smile, holding out his hand for a shake._ _

__Unnoticed by either of them, Q was looking at what he could see of Steward's legs, then allowed his slow gaze to travel up her strong, shapely form until it settled on her breasts. He smiled just slightly, then shot a look at Lancet, who was glaring at him._ _

__He came very close to grabbing Lancet in a hug. He settled for a genuinely warm smile, unconcerned that she only answered it with confusion. He shook Steward's hand and left only a step behind Jean-Luc._ _

__"You're in a good mood," the man murmured as they made it to the sidewalk. "Meeting your doppelganger seems to have agreed with you."_ _

__"Actually, I thought Dr. Lancet was charming, brilliant, and captivating. Too bad for little Dr. Steward that women around here don't shave their heads. She's probably using Rogaine."_ _

__"I'm going to take that as a compliment, Q."_ _

__Q shrugged, spying their limo. "If you like."_ _

__Picard stopped walking, turned, and looked up into Q's eyes._ _

__The dark brown gaze held for a moment, then darted away for a moment only. But when it returned, there was nothing there._ _

__"Q...we have to...you realize they're lovers?"_ _

__Q shrugged, and it was like watching a stick-figure move. "They wouldn't be able to get married here, now."_ _

__"Do you think they could have suspected anything about us?"_ _

__"Doubtful. Their understanding of the universe wouldn't allow it."_ _

__"Still, there can be no sign whatsoever of your entrance into their computer system."_ _

__Q rolled his eyes, moving just slightly out of the way when a young woman in red spandex roller-bladed by. "Spare me from illiterates. 'We're on the server but we're not connected.' I can do it from one of the library computers, I'm sure."_ _

__"Coffee, Q."_ _

__Q nodded, and they walked towards Westwood with a signal to their driver to stay put. Sipping espresso in a window-side table, listening to soft classical music, both with so many words in their mouths they couldn't swallow properly, they said nothing. Red spandex showed up with a boyfriend, and Picard assumed they'd chosen a popular place. He preferred the Cafe du Monde._ _

__"Do you hate me for it?" Q asked, startling Picard almost into spilling his now tepid coffee._ _

__He looked at Q, not wanting to pretend it wasn't the only thing on his mind as well. "No. You were right. It helped me sleep."_ _

__Q winced._ _

__Picard jammed his mouth shut before he asked if Q wanted to be "helped" as well, and stared down at his coffee cup._ _

__"I wanted do it." Q leaned forward, his fists on the table. "I...was glad to --"_ _

__"Talking about it is pointless. I trust you won't find it necessary to --" Picard bit off the sentence and shook his head. The fingers of his right hand were worrying his wedding ring. "I mean, I don't want to be concerned about its happening again."_ _

__"We're two grown men, Jean-Luc. You've doubtlessly woken up before to find me with a hard-on." Hazel eyes snapped up to his in shock. "I'm not thrilled about that, but I'm not foolish enough to say it won't happen again."_ _

__"I didn't mind." The words were out. There was nothing he could do about them, even as Q frowned and wouldn't look away._ _

__Then Q actually bit his lip. "You know, considering what we have to be to each other here, we might consider..."_ _

__Jean-Luc could only wait._ _

__"...that we could help each other, as a matter of...as part of our lives."_ _

__"Are you suggesting an agreement, Q?"_ _

__"Being here is difficult on both of us. I think it would very likely help us both. I've already been candid about my need for contact, being away from the Continuum like this, and you have no one else here. And it's not as though we don't know each other well enough."_ _

___Say yes. Oh, God, say yes. Think of his hands on you, his mouth, touching and being touched._ _ _

___Certainly. And then I climax and say his name and "I love you" and then what?_ _ _

___Say yes anyway. Say yes. Say yes._ _ _

__"Q, that isn't the sort of thing two people just agree to do for each other, without affection, without attraction."_ _

__Q still wouldn't look away, not even when he realized his left fist had completely folded back a small coffee spoon. "No. It's not."_ _

__Picard closed his eyes. "All right, then. I suppose it would help." When he could look again, Q was staring out the window._ _

__"Very good. The library isn't far from here, if you're up to walking."_ _

__It took two hours at the computer for Q to reach the section of the server he wanted without tripping any recognition of his presence. The design specs were somewhat simple to download after that._ _

__The only difficult part had been setting up the school computer with the mega-ZIP-drive, including the actual apparatus, without attracting the notice of the somewhat hawk-like librarian. She'd spotted them almost the moment they'd come in, and didn't seem mollified by the school ID cards they produced._ _

__Picard took up point, then, while Q downloaded the information into a host of 250 MG ZIP cassettes._ _

___Binary systems,_ he thought with disgust. _ _

__It was done, however, and they were on their way without trouble, saying almost nothing during the drive to the hotel._ _

__"We'll need several weeks to get everything on order," Q did say at one point._ _

__"We'll start calling when we get to the room," Picard agreed. "Most the nation is still at work now."_ _

__Q nodded, and the tension snapped back into place._ _

__After running up an astronomical phone bill, they ate at the hotel restaurant, and lingered over coffee until, despite the fact that they hadn't spoken since their salads, Picard shook his head._ _

__"This isn't a good idea."_ _

__"You're backing out?"_ _

__Comprehension dawned. "You're looking forward to having me do something for you?"_ _

__"Meet the Wiz Kid."_ _

__"I'm sorry. I didn't realize..." Picard looked at the waiter, wondering how he was keeping his heartbeat from being heard all over the restaurant. The excitement of the thought that Q wanted him this way, that it wasn't just another thing Q was doing to take care of him…Q wanted, for whatever reason, for Jean-Luc to touch him, to make him feel good._ _

__He felt much better about the possibility of not giving himself away if he were the one doing the pleasuring. Yes, let Q lie on his back, naked, while Picard ran his fingertips over that smooth skin, breathing him in, watching him..._ _

__Perhaps he could persuade Q to try a blindfold._ _

__They rode the elevator in silence, entered the room, bolted the door._ _

__"What --" His voice was too loud. He calmed it. "What would you like?"_ _

__Q smiled, but it was empty. They couldn't meet the other's eyes. They walked, awkward, sideways, to the bedroom, not coming too close. When Q clicked off the light, Picard sighed. They could still see each other easily, but details were blurred. Perhaps it would be enough._ _

__Q couldn't stop staring at Picard's hands. They were large hands for a man his size, and as expressive in their own way as the man's voice and eyes._ _

__The sense of unreality -- a Human concept -- which had begun the moment Picard allowed Q to touch his cock had continued to this moment, and Q thought he might be choking. This had been the worst idea he'd ever had. It could only make Picard hate him._ _

__It didn't matter. In a few moments, he would have Jean-Luc’s cock in his mouth._ _

__"I'd like a shower, and I suspect you would too. I think we should stick with our usual routine, don't you? I mean, it's more comfortable." Q wondered if, should he ever again stop talking so abruptly, his tongue would snap in two._ _

__Picard nodded, and, after a moment, headed into the bathroom._ _

__Eventually, they both got into their pajamas, and into the bed, not speaking, lying on their backs, waiting._ _

__"If you're tired..." Picard began, a husky whisper in the dark._ _

__Q slid over, pushing the covers down a bit, leaning on his elbow, looking down. Picard waited for him to speak._ _

__The dark head bent down, and a full, warm mouth sought his own. Jean-Luc started slightly, and the lips missed his, landing instead on his cheek, where they rested, gently._ _

__"What do you like, Q?"_ _

__"Touch me."_ _

__"Where?"_ _

__"Any -- here. On my side."_ _

__Picard made himself not think about it. His left hand crossed his own body in a sort of arc, and landed on Q's side, feeling his warmth through the thin silk, resting in the curve of his hip. A moment, and then he slid his palm down to the bone that jutted out, then up again, to the shoulder, a practiced move that allowed him to draw the shoulder closer, to encourage Q to lean forward a little. God, he was so warm, so solid against him. He turned his head, his breath gone, waiting for the moment when they would kiss._ _

__Lips touched, a gentle pressure on both sides, so tender, so careful. Picard's eyes pricked with tears Q did not see, his own eyes shut tight._ _

__"I hate the thought of how lonely you must be." God, he hadn't meant to say anything. He was doomed. This could never work._ _

__But he couldn't back out now._ _

__"I'm not lonely right this second, Jean-Luc."_ _

__He smiled, and allowed his hand to ruffle through Q's hair. It was surprisingly soft, and tangled with a sort of coy reluctance around his fingers._ _

__That mouth landed on his chest, and he couldn't help gasping. Warmth trickled down through him, and the trail went lower._ _

__"Q...I thought, this is your turn."_ _

__"I gave you what you wanted, before, didn't I?"_ _

__"I -- yes."_ _

__"This is what I want." The mouth reached the waistband of his pajamas. A hand now was pulling at the elastic._ _

__"But this is supposed to...I'm supposed to...to you."_ _

__"Shhhh."_ _

__Picard made himself stop everything, and yet still his legs spread and his hips lifted, and then --_ _

__"No!"_ _

__Q stopped, his hand cupped around the warm sac, his mouth less than an inch from the red, weeping cockhead. He could smell the man’s arousal now, and the cock in his hand twitched as his fingers contracted just slightly._ _

___He can't mean it._ _ _

__"Q, I can't just let you. Don't you want me to do this to you?"_ _

__"I'd rather do it to you, and it's my turn."_ _

__As though he were falling slowly backwards, Picard reached out, found Q's hip again, and slid his hand inside and along until he found the hardness that allowed this to continue. Q did want this, did want to be touched. Even as Picard’s fingers closed around silk and the cock within it, Q gasped his name and fell back, his own hand sliding from Picard's length._ _

__Sitting up made his pounding heart feel compressed as Jean-Luc ripped down the thin pants and then smoothed his hands up the insides of Q's muscled thighs. Salt-sweet and warm loam smells, and the heat of Q’s flesh, hard against his palms, his fingers._ _

__"Jean-Luc!" Q wailed as he sprawled on his back and thrust up without rhythm. Picard's hands were there, holding him, urging him on._ _

___I could take him in my mouth,_ Picard thought, and bent down. A hand grasped his, trying to still him. He shoved it away. _ _

__"Jean-Luc? Please...I can't stand this."_ _

__"I'll make it good for you, Q. Please trust me." Why should Q trust him? His hands were shaking, there was not a hint of saliva in his mouth, and he'd never done this before._ _

__"Ohhh, lay on top of me. Please. Just lay on top of me and be here with me."_ _

__The man spread himself down, desperate to be able to do what Q wanted. And he could do this. He could make it through, even though his throat was clogging with words, and the dim room seemed filled with red light. He felt his lips pressed and pulled back against his teeth, desperate for the touch of Q’s lips. His hands were claws, scrabbling at Q's shoulders._ _

__A hot cock brushed his own. Q’s silken cock._ _

__"Ohhhh. I love you."_ _

__Oh God. It was out. He had said it._ _

__Q groaned._ _

__"Q, I love you. God, I love you so much. I've loved you for so long." The words were moaned, luxuriously, into that long neck. Jean-Luc's hands were everywhere, touching, while their hips ground together, silk sliding between their chests while bare cocks caressed in broken tempo. "I love you. I love you. I love you."_ _

__Q choked out a string of sounds, then reached out and pulled Picard's head towards his own, locking them in a kiss. Without gentleness, he plundered Jean-Luc's mouth, wanting to devour, to own, to have as close as possible. His body strained at the lack of not being Jean-Luc, and he felt his legs wrapping around tightly, his arms pressing, the limited flesh denying them both._ _

__Rough pubic hairs scraped the head of Q’s cock, and he screamed into that beloved mouth, his whole body now caught up in the hot rush through and out and not enough but so much more than he'd had before, losing himself, still kissing, still touching, never to be broken apart._ _

__When Q came, Picard was already shaking, joining him while still thinking only of him, angry that as he came he couldn't breathe, couldn't continue to drink in Q's body with every sense. And yet there was joy unlike any he'd known, continuing to think the words I love you. I love you._ _

__Picard only knew he'd drifted off when he was cold. His body shot into a sitting position, heart beating as though his ship were being rocked with Borg fire._ _

__"Q?"_ _

__"In here." Q emerged from the bedroom with a washcloth and walked quickly to the bed, still without his pants. "Just thought you'd like --"_ _

__"Yes, thank you." Picard took the cloth and turned away, sitting on the edge of the bed. Of course Q would want to clean up now._ _

__"Jean-Luc?"_ _

__"I should go into the bathroom, I suppose, for a shower." He tried to find his pants without being too obvious._ _

__"Jean-Luc, damnit. Look at me."_ _

__He tried to turn around, straining against locked muscles, but ended up simply staring ahead at the dim outline of the wall. When Q touched his shoulder he jumped, then settled, trying to control, trying to relax, to be whatever Q needed him to be, to be whatever he needed himself to be to get through this._ _

__"Jean-Luc, did you ever manage to hear me tell you how I feel?"_ _

__Picard turned around, and, more than any one other thing, he noticed how quiet the room was. Impressive for this era, when one remembered the very busy street just outside._ _

__"No." Hazel eyes watched quietly, and it seemed to Q that they were the eyes some Human might turn to his from behind the boundary of a cell. The entity had a strange sense of floating as he alit beside Jean-Luc on the bed, and his stomach hurt._ _

__"Some Humans have a tendency to say anything in bed. It's caused more than a few of your bloodier moments in history," Q said, hearing his own drawl with both regret and relief. "If you want to say you didn't mean it..." Q's eyes had lost their struggle and begun to trace the outlines of the flesh and muscle of the naked legs bent between them, half-on the bed. Then the even greater battle was lost, and his gaze came to rest on the softly curled penis resting against a sinewy thigh, its base dusted lightly with gray-black hairs, the foreskin now showing only the very tip of the pink head, a shy treasure that made Q's mouth water._ _

__"We both know I meant it, Q," Picard rumbled, his eyes closing in defeat._ _

__That snapped Q out of it, and he was looking into Picard's shuttered face in confusion. He reached out not to caress, but to shake his shoulder, and the narrow eyes creaked open._ _

__"What's that supposed to mean?"_ _

__Picard sighed. It was actually a relief just to talk about it. "I'm sure the nature of my feelings have been obvious to you for some time now, for all my efforts to disguise them."_ _

__Q had never in his entire existence spoken so carefully. "The only feelings that have been obvious to me for the past few weeks are hostility and bare tolerance. If you feel anything else for me, if you really love me, I need you to say it and mean it, and I need you to say and mean it before I suck your cock."_ _

__Picard's mouth went dry again, and he had to work his tongue for moisture before he could speak._ _

__Q went on during this pause. "Because I'm going to, no matter what you say next. I have to."_ _

__"You have to, Q?"_ _

__Q nodded, his gaze going down the man's body again. Picard shivered. "It's all I can think about anymore. All these weeks you've been a bastard to me, I've kept myself going by thinking about the moment your Human semen would spill into my mouth, and I could drink you up." That dark stare suddenly snapped onto Jean-Luc's dazed eyes. "It's so Q-like, you see. It's the first thing I ever thought of doing to you."_ _

__"The Q...fellate each other?" Picard asked weakly. "God, Q. Do you want me? Have you wanted me?"_ _

__Q smiled, a little grim and a little desperate, and then moved his head forward and down._ _

__"No!" Picard grabbed his shoulders, holding him off, willing him to look up into his eyes again. "You can suck me forever, but I have to know, Q."_ _

__Q did look up, slowly, his smile changing slightly, a lopsided curl. "Forever? Can I hold you to that?"_ _

__"I love you, Q."_ _

__"Then prove it." Q moved his shoulders away, and Picard, looking lost, let him go._ _

__The dark head moved down again, slowly, and Jean-Luc watched that mouth near him until the tilt of Q's head hid everything from view. He felt the brush of soft lips against the rim of his foreskin, and a warm tongue lapped at his exposed cockhead. Q's hot hands pulled his hips forward slightly, and Jean-Luc fell back against the soft pillows and the hard headboard with a thump and a moan._ _

__"Do whatever you want to me, Q," he whispered. "Whatever you want."_ _

__Q wasn't listening, couldn't hear anything over the roar of blood in his ears. Jean-Luc's cock tasted absolutely unique in the universe, and the incredible softness of him against his lips and tongue had charmed him, drugged him._ _

__He had simply wanted this too long. He knew, quite well, he needed to stop and talk to Jean-Luc. There seemed to be legitimate cause to believe he might be getting more here than just tolerance and sex. Picard didn't tell people he loved them, not like that. It was significant. He should stop and understand this better._ _

__But stopping was simply out of the question. Picard's cock was sliding back now along his tongue, filling his mouth, and -- yes! There was the first taste of pure semen, not quite the same as the energy he had once known from those Q who had shared with him, millions of eons ago, but so similar, even in this form, in fact, somehow better, that he was drunk with it._ _

__He sucked hard, caressing, drawing in, and if he hadn't been scared out of his mind it would have been better than he had ever dreamed._ _

__When Picard put his hand down in his hair, Q flushed with warmth, and when the hand did not press him down or pull him away, but merely caressed him, Q got his throat unlocked and took the long length of him all the way in._ _

___Good thing I practiced this so much._ _ _

__Picard didn’t last much longer after that. Those narrow hips under his hands thrust up, the good captain screamed his name, and then what Q had longed for happened. His eyes closed, he drank in Jean-Luc’s semen, tasted it, knew it, and then swallowed, and a part of the man’s essence was now a part of his own body._ _

___I wonder how you’d feel if I told you that according to Q customs we’re now married, Mon Capitaine?_ _ _

__Of course, Q "marriages" were designed with a time limit, and the whole practice had been abandoned since before Earth had turned solid. But the symbols were still recognized, and, as far as Q was concerned, this rite would be repeated until Picard himself…_ _

__What did Picard think? Had he meant it? Did he love him?_ _

__"Q?"_ _

__Q slid up the bed to glare down into the man’s eyes. "You’d better mean it."_ _

__Jean-Luc opened his mouth to answer, and closed again to seal Q’s kiss. His daze was beginning to dissipate, and for the first time he was truly feeling the kiss: Q’s heat, the sureness of that pressure, the tentative touch of a tongue against his lips. He opened his mouth again, and Q’s tongue was inside him. He sucked on it gently, tasting himself, and felt the warm body over him shiver._ _

__A hand came to rest on his stomach, stroking so softly, and then Q shifted, and he felt enveloped by the embrace, held close and almost absorbed by it._ _

__But Q tore his mouth away with a moan. "You’d better mean it."_ _

__Jean-Luc looked up into Q’s eyes and felt shame. He hated himself that Q looked so lost, so needy. But he had said that he loved him - had repeated it often, in fact. What more could he say than that?_ _

__And so with a soft kiss on Q’s lips, he turned over on his stomach and spread his legs._ _

__"Jean-Luc? What are you doing?"_ _

__"If you want me, Q…"_ _

__Q’s stomach contracted viciously, but not with arousal. Not like this, like animals. He’d fucked things before in his life, and he certainly wanted to be inside Picard in every possible way, but this, while the man lay there and endured…_ _

__"Why? What are you doing?"_ _

__Picard sighed. "I love you, Q."_ _

__"Oh…" Only then did he understand. Picard was offering this -- when he doubtlessly didn’t want to -- as a show of love, perhaps even of faith and trust. It wasn’t an angle Q had ever considered._ _

__He’d thought he’d show Picard, eventually, that this could be good. He’d dreamed of teaching the man all the ways his body could be pleasured. But he’d never thought Picard would offer him his ass to prove something._ _

__He wanted insane desire, not a sacrifice. He wanted Picard to need him inside his body, not tolerate him._ _

___But he’s offering me this to show he loves me._ Q allowed his hand to trail along Picard’s perfect back. The man was as tense as an Idion ice snake. He probably thought that Q was about to hurt him. _ _

__His arms now moved in their old pattern, gathering the man in close, holding his back against Q’s chest and belly, sharing heat. But now for the first time he placed a line of tender kisses along the neck, then up and over the smooth head, and smiled in the dark when he felt Jean-Luc relax a bit._ _

__"Jean-Luc, let’s stay here."_ _

__Several seconds went by in silence._ _

__"What?"_ _

__"Let’s not go back to our own universe. Let’s not go back to where you’re a captain and I’m an entity you can’t trust for the sake of mankind. Let’s not go back to the Continuum and Riker and Guinan and Vash and Troi and all the rest of it. Let’s stay here and be two mortals and just be together."_ _

__"You’d die here, Q."_ _

__Q closed his eyes and rested his forehead on Picard’s shoulder._ _

__"I don’t care."_ _

__Picard didn’t answer, except with broken breathing, and Q went on, dreamily:_ _

__"Being with you would be worth it."_ _

__"Is it…that you’re bored, back in our world, Q?"_ _

__"No. It’s that I love you."_ _

__The words hurt. "I’m a Human, Q. An aging man who’s been snarling at you for weeks. I’ve done nothing but argue with you and…Q…" He turned in Q’s arms, settling within that embrace when he could look into Q’s eyes. They were almost glaring at him, and yet they had softened as he had never seen them before._ _

__"Think of it, Picard. We could just stay here and make love all the time. We’ve all the money we need to be safe, even if they do start a war. We’ll go to the islands, or live underground, and we’ll have food and games, and our beds -- lots of beds, and just stay in them and touch each other all the time and be -- "_ _

__"Q."_ _

__"…together. I’ll suck you whenever you want, and you can do what you like with me, and I can teach you things you’ve -"_ _

__"Q, please…"_ _

__"…never thought of. You have no idea what I -"_ _

__"Q!"_ _

__"Don’t say no, please, damnit, Jean-Luc!"_ _

__"How can I say yes to hiding, Q? Do you think I’m ashamed of you? I’ll love you in any universe."_ _

__"I’m not talking about shame, I’m talking about time! Do you think you’re going to want to be in bed with me when your ship is waiting for your command? And what about when the Continuum has some new task for me? They’ve gotten their hooks into me properly now, you know. All that damn guilt and pain from the war, and the way they just took over Junior, and…Jean-Luc, it can be just us here, don’t you realize? It can be just us."_ _

__And Picard let himself think of it, his head now resting on Q’s chest, and chuckled with the realization. "What you’re describing is nothing short of paradise, Q."_ _

__"Then you really do love me?"_ _

__"More than…I can’t describe it. Shakespeare, Mozart, and Ait’thel all together working for eternity couldn’t describe it, Q. You are love, and the possibility of love to me, Q."_ _

__Q shuddered and held him close. "I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you’re saying this to me."_ _

__"You offered once before to give up your powers and be with me. I didn’t believe it then. I suppose I should have."_ _

__"It was too soon for us then. This is our time."_ _

__"Time…"_ _

__"What?"_ _

__Picard raised up and smiled into Q’s eyes. "We don’t have to give up going back, you know. We could live a life here, then return at the end, and then be the ages we were when we left, continuing on with our lives and our duties. We would still be together, but perhaps, after thirty years of loving each other, we might feel a little less urgency."_ _

__"Doubt it," Q mumbled, smiling as well. "But I like the idea of thirty years here. Are you really saying you’ll do this?"_ _

__"You can restore us just as we were…only we wouldn’t have to forget anything." The man’s eyes clouded slightly. "Once before I lived an entire life and knew love, and children, and returned to command my ship. It almost killed me, losing that. Now life has offered me the opportunity to live a life for love once again, only this time it’s my choice. Why shouldn’t I take it? Why shouldn’t I be allowed to love you?"_ _

__"I would die for you, you know," Q said seriously, then didn’t know whether to be pleased or worried when Picard rocked slightly at the words. "And I also don’t want to live without you in my life. If in the end you need to die, I’ll go there with you."_ _

__"Go where?"_ _

__Q smiled. "Where mortals go when they die."_ _

__"You’ve been there before?"_ _

__Q shook his head. "It will be an adventure for both of us."_ _

__"Q."_ _

__"I love the way you say my name, Jean-Luc Picard."_ _

__The man shivered and moved so that his whole body was touching Q’s. "Did you come to this world after me because you love me?"_ _

__"Of course."_ _

__"That day I cut my hand…"_ _

__"Ugh." Q flinched. "I almost lost it, that day."_ _

__Penitently, Jean-Luc kissed gently at Q’s chest. "I could tell that you cared, but I was so worried you’d realize how I felt about you."_ _

__"And how is that?" Q shifted, letting Picard’s weight settle him more completely against him. He felt something twitch against his belly, and relaxed into warmth._ _

__"I told you," Picard muttered, still kissing. Q watched that smooth head moving gently over him and began to tremble. It was almost impossible to accept that Jean-Luc loved him. He was numb in spots, as though time were needed to let the idea seep in completely. Another soft kiss over his sternum, then another, closer to his left nipple. Q's eyes kept wanting to close, especially when he thought of what this person with him was: the one entity in countless millennia in whom Q had believed, in whom Q placed his trust. He thought of the man's poetic spirit, of his infinite loyalty and determination to do right. He thought of his courage -- however foolhardy it became at times -- and of his incomparable beauty. The man radiated power, and, as a not-half-bad-herself woman had recently noted, he engendered trust. And safe inside Q's body was a part of him, a little exchange which bound them together._ _

__"Tell me again," Q urged, reveling in the selfish need of it._ _

__"I love you."_ _

__"I love you too. I couldn't make them understand," Q’s trembling was growing into shivers as a warm, soft mouth finally closed on his nipple._ _

__"Make them understand what?" Jean-Luc's breath stirred over his chest._ _

__"After you solved the temporal puzzle, I tried to make them see how stupid the whole thing was. They told me I was just mad that they were horning in on my fun. So I told them how I felt, and it was like I'd lost the power of speech. They just stared at me. Q asked me if I felt all right."_ _

__Picard's head had come up so, and now he smiled slowly into Q's eyes. "And how do you feel, Q?"_ _

__Q smiled back as one of his numb places abruptly grew warm. In a moment, he had Picard on his back and had moved to cover him. It was so amusing, and so erotic, the way Picard's body was so small Q felt as though he could wrap all around him. As he plundered long, slow, deep kisses, he felt the man's erection against his thigh as a triumph. He stretched slightly and let their cocks brush, and Jean-Luc immediately began to move against him._ _

__"No," Q whispered. "Wait." He slithered down, and again held Picard in his mouth._ _

__"Ohhhhhhhhyessssssssss," the man sighed, until the hiss rained into a guttural moan. He didn't understand why this particular act meant so much to Q, but the intensity of his approach suited Picard's desperation quite well. "I was…thinking about this…in the kitchen. When I cut myself."_ _

__Q groaned and slid the hot cock in his mouth deeper inside. His hands smoothed up that perfect body to find and caress tight nipples, and he wanted it all so fiercely he almost didn’t feel that he was having anything._ _

___Thirty years won’t even begin to be enough for us, Jean-Luc._ It was an odd thought: dying happy. _ _

__Q reached over then and found Picard’s hand, stroking where the kitchen knife’s thin pink scar still showed, not fumbling, seeing clearly in his mind’s eye the wound he still felt uneasy about. He’d feared infection, or another cut, more than he had once feared the Callamarain._ _

__"I love you." The baritone words rumbled out, vibrating along the flesh in his mouth, and Q quietly came, shuddering as his own warm essence trickled down his thigh, unknown to the man who moaned and grabbed at Q’s hand, holding fast. Another moment, and Q was drinking him in yet again, waiting until there was nothing left, then nuzzling the warm sac and licking the tender skin._ _

__Hands pulled at his shoulders and Q slid up, wrapping arms around the man’s body, closing his eyes to enjoy it. There was a light touch at his groin._ _

__"Q?"_ _

__"Yes?"_ _

__"You’re not…"_ _

__"Had mine. Don’t worry about it. Time to sleep."_ _

__"But I want to -- don’t you understand, Q?"_ _

__With effort, Q opened his eyes. Picard was looking at him with concern obvious even in the dim light. Q tried to focus, his Human body struggling to flop back and sleep._ _

__"I want to make you feel good too, Q."_ _

__Q smiled. "You do. You are."_ _

__Picard frowned, but reached over to kiss him before turning to settle back in his arms again. Q sighed, hoping the happiness of it was as easy to hear as it was to feel, and slept._ _

__

__Jean-Luc’s legs were asleep, his bladder was going to burst, and his nose itched._ _

__Q’s breathing was deep and regular, as was his own. Neither of them had moved in the past hour or so since Picard had awakened._ _

__Oh dear, he was getting a cramp in his left leg now. Could he stretch it gently away? There was a small sound as skin slid against the sheet._ _

__"Jean-Luc?"_ _

__Picard felt his body go tense, and tried to ease himself around, but the motion was jerky and graceless, and then he was looking into Q’s deeply guarded eyes, and neither of them spoke._ _

__The moment pressed in on them, until Q made a noise suspiciously like a titter._ _

__"My heart is pounding."_ _

__"I love you, Q."_ _

__Q groaned in relief and fell towards him, splaying out across his body, holding him and pressing him deliciously down into the mattress._ _

__"How long have you been awake?" the muffled question tickled his neck._ _

__Jean-Luc smiled. "About an hour."_ _

__Q laughed, and kissed him._ _

__"I've been awake since dawn, I think." Q kissed him again, caressing him with his hips. When Picard didn't immediately respond, he drew back in alarm._ _

__"I'm sorry," Jean-Luc whispered, "but I really have to..." His eyes went to the door._ _

__Q laughed, concealing a sigh of relief, then settled back on the bed luxuriously to watch his lover walk across the room naked. At the door, Jean-Luc sent back a look that made Q’s toes curl, and long after the door was shut, Q lay there, smiling in anticipation._ _

__The knock at the door didn’t disturb him. Only the second one quite reached his ears._ _

__Frowning, and shrugging into a plush white robe, Q walked to the door and peered through the fish-eye hole. Two men were standing in the hall, both dressed in military uniforms, a lieutenant and a private. As Q watched, eyes wide, the one on the left knocked again, sharply._ _

__"Who’s at the door?" Picard asked quietly._ _

__Q twirled around, hands raised and moving up and down. Picard raised an eyebrow, but remained silent while Q hoped fervently their Omega Expresses had bought them truly superior sound-proofing._ _

__Another knock, and then silence. Q looked again carefully. The men seemed to have taken up a sort of informal guarding of the door. He made way for Jean-Luc to see, then both of them moved away from the door._ _

__"We must have signaled our presence in the mainframe," Picard said, not sparing Q the unpleasant truth._ _

__Q looked ready to argue, then simply shrugged. "It doesn’t matter what tipped them."_ _

__"We can’t start over. If we run now we can’t ever go back to the warehouse. I’m not ready to give up all that work."_ _

__"So we just open the door?"_ _

__"Surely at this point all they want is some questions answered, Q."_ _

__"We don’t know what they want. We don’t know what they know."_ _

__"We’re American citizens, as far as they’re concerned. We can’t simply be made to disappear."_ _

__"You’re been naturalized. They’ll suspect you."_ _

__"As what? A British agent?"_ _

__"I can’t let them –"_ _

__"Q." Picard’s eyes stopped him more than the name. "I’ll be fine. We’ll get through this."_ _

__"I hate this."_ _

__"I know." He reached out to touch Q’s lips with his fingertips, unable to keep from thinking of how incredible it was to be allowed this gesture after such a long, seemingly hopeless wait. "I love you."_ _

__Q caught the hand against his mouth, and kissed it. "I love you, Jean-Luc."_ _

__Picard wore pants and a shirt, but left his shoes off when he opened the door._ _

__"Hello?"_ _

__The men seemed surprised, and the taller one suspicious._ _

__"Didn’t you hear us knocking, sir?"_ _

__"I’m sorry, I was in the shower."_ _

__"Who is it, Jean-Luc?"_ _

__Picard turned quite naturally to his fully dressed companion. "I haven’t gotten their names yet, Quentin."_ _

__"I’m Lt. Fred Halkins. You are Jean-Luc Picard and Quentin Jones?"_ _

__"Yes," Q said, as Picard nodded._ _

__"We need you two to come with us, please."_ _

__"That’s a rather broad statement. May we know what this is regarding?" the captain asked._ _

__"Some questions have been raised regarding your visit to a secure facility yesterday, the 23rd. I must ask you and Mr. Jones to come with us. Drs. Lancet and Steward have expressed a desire to speak with you."_ _

__Picard and Q blinked._ _

__"Well, why didn’t you say?" Q said with a delighted grin. "We’d love to speak to them again."_ _

__"Indeed," Picard put in, watching in satisfaction as the two men in military costume looked vaguely taken-aback. He turned and put on his shoes and jacket while Q gathered up his wallet and checked his hair. Jean-Luc pocketed his room card, looked around the room once, and then went into the hall, Q at his heels._ _

__They spoke only bare civilities in the somberly dark and sedate car, but the soldiers weren’t rude. Q maintained an air of a ride to a friend’s house, and Picard simply remained silent. Inside, however, he was impressed with Steward and Lancet. They had more pull in the military than he’d supposed._ _

__They arrived at UCLA in good time, and soon he and Q were escorted to the same office they’d be led to the day before. This time, however, Steward and Lancet were waiting for them. The two women waited only until their escort retired from the room, then pounced._ _

__"Just who the hell are you two?" Lancet demanded._ _

__"And don’t lay any more of that Greenpeace crap on us," Steward added._ _

__"We know you’re not with them," Lancet agreed. "Whatever your credentials are – and don’t get me wrong, they’re impeccable but they’re bullshit – no one at Greenpeace has ever actually met you, or knows where the hell you two came from."_ _

__"You certainly have a lot of money to throw around," Steward noted._ _

__"This isn’t about our money," Picard countered quietly._ _

__"No, it’s not." Lancet’s eyes were narrow and sharp. "It’s about how you two knew just what questions to ask to rip us off!"_ _

__Picard opened his mouth and closed it. In their own way, Lancet and Steward were right. He opened his mouth again. "I assure you, we are from no rival corporation or government."_ _

__"Just talented amateurs?" Steward asked._ _

__"Come on," Lancet said, pushing herself slightly forward to look down her nose at Picard. "We know you’re with our government, and we want to know who sent you here."_ _

__"You said our credentials are impeccable," Q noted, and Picard almost shivered at the quiet menace of his voice. "Why don’t you just accept their validity? There’s nothing here that’s been done to upset your research, or interfere with your work."_ _

__"Is that some kind of threat?" Lancet demanded with menace of her own._ _

__Q smiled, but there was acid in it. "Only a warning."_ _

__"Quentin," Jean-Luc said with a smile of pure diplomacy. "May I speak with you a moment?" He stepped back against the wall with a nod at the two women._ _

__Q nodded himself and moved over to Picard somewhat stiffly. The office was big enough to have a somewhat private conversation, if they kept their voices down very low._ _

__"Q, you’re pushing all your own buttons," Jean-Luc murmured._ _

__"Janet, calm down," Connie muttered._ _

__Q met Picard’s eyes fiercely, then in temporary resignation. He turned with a smile that was brilliantly false, but hid no obvious fangs. "The problem with being completely innocent is that it only makes you look all the more guilty. If Jean-Luc and I confessed now to a minor conspiracy, the two of you might be fobbed off, but Jean-Luc wouldn’t go for it and I don’t want to have to come up with the lies for it. I made my money on the stock exchange. I can show you my portfolio if you like. We’re trying to do something with our money that’s meaningful: Greenpeace, our recent endowment, other philanthropic endeavors. We had thought, perhaps, to help your project."_ _

__"Who the hell is ‘we?’" Lancet snarled. Steward’s eyes, however, had gone thoughtful._ _

__"Quentin and I," Jean-Luc said calmly, allowing himself the moment. "We’re partners."_ _

__Q’s brilliant smile grew abruptly sincere._ _

__"Partners in what?"_ _

__Picard shrugged. "Life. Or do you prefer the term ‘significant other?’"_ _

__The women blinked, then two pair of eyes went directly to the gold ring on Picard’s hand, then to the one on Q’s. Steward seemed somewhat discomfited, while Lancet looked somewhat smug._ _

__Their suspicion, however, was not abated._ _

__"Quentin and I have both studied physics," Picard continued. "We recognize the overwhelming importance of your work, and we have, as Quentin said, quite a bit of money to dispose of – our legacy to the world. We have, of course, no children. This is what we can give."_ _

__"Our project is well-funded, Mr. Picard." Lancet’s words, however, rattled with forced hostility._ _

__Quentin shrugged. "Yes, as we see. It was arrogance on our part to believe you could use an extra forty million."_ _

__Picard nodded as though Q’s words were wisdom handed down from Mount Sileya itself._ _

__"Forty million?" Steward asked. Lancet had the grace to look somewhat non-plussed herself. That didn’t, however, stop her from drawling:_ _

__"You’re kidding,"_ _

__"I assure you, we had every intention of creating the endowment," Picard said with just slightly widened eyes. "However, I can see that our presence here yesterday has disturbed your work."_ _

__"The very last thing we sought," Q put in with perhaps just a tad too much remorse. Picard shot him a look, then used it to his advantage._ _

__"I realize how this must sound to you. We’ve grown too complacent in our wealth, and expect too much of the red carpet and bowing and scraping."_ _

__"You honestly expect us to believe you two are some sort of gay Santa Claus duo who go around the countryside –"_ _

__"Janet!" Steward snapped. "There’s no cause to be rude."_ _

__But Q was there. "I should think you would find us easy to accept. After all, one doesn’t often meet a pair of lesbian lovers who are about to change the way the whole world powers up its televisions."_ _

__Steward’s eyes popped and her color went dark while Lancet evidently swallowed a howl of laughter._ _

__"Quentin," Jean-Luc cautioned, "perhaps they’re not comfortable discussing –"_ _

__"We’re not…you think…Janet and I are not lovers!"_ _

__Lancet’s mirth seemed to implode, painfully, while Steward turned from them to grab something off a shelf. Q managed to catch Lancet’s eye, and he winked at her. She blinked back._ _

__"Can you tell me what this is?" Steward demanded, holding up a laminated document._ _

__"It’s your primary relay matrix," Picard answered._ _

__"What’s wrong with it?"_ _

__Picard couldn’t help being impressed that she picked this one problem, out of the many they had, to question him with. Their other difficulties were a simple matter to him and Q, with solutions involving 24th century techniques slightly altered with 20th century materials. But the primary relay matrix was the key to the real troubles, as its temperature controls simply weren’t effective, and Steward and Lancet’s entire approach depended on strictly controlling the temperature right up to the moment of fusion. Solving it was, in fact, he and Q’s biggest obstacle. However, all he said was, "I believe that’s your department."_ _

__"You told us yesterday there was something wrong with it."_ _

__"I did?"_ _

__"You asked us yesterday how we were compensating for the energy spikes before we told you we were getting them."_ _

__"Quentin and I assumed you were having the same trouble Dr. Sam McKinnes is having," Picard explained quietly. "You did say in your article in Scientific America that you were adapting his technique."_ _

__"So that’s it? We’re just supposed to believe you appear with a fat wallet and an intimate understanding of cold fusion?"_ _

__"I told you –"_ _

__"Yes! You studied!"_ _

__"What must we do to convince you?" Q asked, hands spread wide._ _

__"I can think of forty million things, myself," Lancet announced._ _

__"Janet!"_ _

__"There’s no way these two would have the authority to throw that kind of money at us if they’re just government snoops," Lancet observed, looking somewhat coldly now at Steward. "And besides, we could use the money."_ _

__"We hadn’t actually decided on it," Picard noted mildly._ _

__Steward looked at him narrowly. "Meaning?"_ _

__"Could Jean-Luc and I be permitted to talk privately?"_ _

__Lancet looked ready to spit._ _

__"I’m not leaving them alone in here," Steward announced, clearly still struggling for composure. Picard felt a wave of sympathy for her_ _

__"You can use the washroom," Lancet said with a nod of her head at the discreet door._ _

__They filed in quickly, shutting the door between them and the scientists._ _

__"Q, I –"_ _

__The rest of Picard’s thought was lost in a kiss, and he gave it willingly. Strong arms, Q’s heat, and passionate urging seeking him: all this was Q, and more. He groaned and felt himself, all that he was, seek the lover kissing him in return. He wondered dimly if he could bring himself to object if Q threw him over the washbasin and took him right then._ _

__They broke for air, holding each other tightly._ _

__"I love you," Q whispered._ _

__"God, Q. I love you too. I want to go home and make love to you in our bed."_ _

__Q shuddered, speaking so quietly Picard had to strain to make it out: "We’ll have to disappear."_ _

__"I know. But once, at least, in our bed, Q."_ _

__Q closed his eyes, and kissed him once more. "Yes. At least once in our bed."_ _

__"When we get back to the hotel, let me take you in my mouth."_ _

__Q looked worried. "Jean-Luc –"_ _

__"That, or be inside me."_ _

__Q looked more worried. "I want you to enjoy what we do."_ _

__"I need you, Q."_ _

__Q wanted to speak, but ended up kissing him instead. Oh, he was all warmth and acceptance, strength and beauty, Captain Picard and his Jean-Luc. He felt his own hands seek the curves of the man’s backside, reveling in the freedom to touch him._ _

__"There’s so much I need to explain," Q groaned._ _

__"Later. I love you." Picard pulled Q’s head down for another kiss, then another, rocking his hips gently against Q’s, loving this, loving him..._ _

__Q dropped to his knees._ _

__"Q, no…" But already hands were opening the fly of his pants, and he was, truth to be told, hard and aching. "We’re…we can’t do this now…" Q’s mouth went around him. "Oh, God. Q…I love you…Q…" How could this be true? How could he be here like this?_ _

__But as Q’s tongue flickered over his slit, Jean-Luc closed his eyes and knew only his lover._ _

__When the men emerged from the bathroom, Connie Steward noticed that their faces were flushed and their eyes bright. _Have they been necking in there, or snorting coke?_ God, that was all she needed: coke heads with a checkbook. _ _

__Could she and Janet have over-reacted yesterday? When they’d compared notes on their visitors last evening, talking things over with a little wine and cheese at Janet’s immaculate apartment, it had seemed so clear that they’d been visited by scientists in disguise, snooping around their project for some Senator or other. When they’d put in their late-night phone calls to their contacts at Greenpeace and come up empty, they’d been so sure they were right._ _

__Could these jokers just be rich gay men with degrees in physics? It seemed ridiculous._ _

__Why had they thought she and Janet were lovers? And why had Janet acted so strangely over it? Janet had a kid and used to be married, for Pete’s sakes. Connie herself was single, but she’d had a long string of boyfriends, including that dashing Dr. Vash, who still showed up on her doorstep sometimes, showing off some new artifact from some Egyptian dig, and sweet-talking her into bed._ _

__She and Janet hadn’t even liked each other for years. They’d only recently even thought of each other as friends._ _

__"Will the standard cashier’s check do?" Jones asked._ _

__Janet nodded. "It would be lovely, thank you."_ _

__"Our pleasure," Picard said, smiling at them both. He really did have impeccable manners, and he…it was easy to trust him, which really bothered Connie terribly. Both of the men just made all her alarms go off._ _

__But Janet was right. They could really use the money._ _

__"The lieutenant will give you a ride back to your hotel," Connie said._ _

__"We’ll send a messenger with the check later today," Jones told them, moving towards the door. Picard moved with them, and for just a moment it was as smooth and synchronized as a dance. Connie thought, suddenly, that both men were beautiful._ _

__But then they were gone, and she steadied herself angrily._ _

__Janet was already moving towards the monitor. Connie felt the same misgivings she’d had when they set up the little camera in the bathroom this morning. But she’d agreed to it, and Janet would throw an unholy fit if she tried to get moral on her now. Besides, if the men had shoveled snow in the john, she wanted to know about it._ _

__Janet clicked the mouse and started the playback. The picture wasn’t the best quality, but clearly showed the bathroom from the tile floor to the top of the large mirror over the sink. When the men came in, Picard’s head shone slightly, but the autofocus worked quite well. The kiss came in sharp and clear._ _

__The microphone hadn’t been powerful enough to pick up the words the men murmured to each other, and as the kisses continued, Connie was about to suggest that they scan forward when Jones just fell to his knees._ _

__"Q, no…" Picard said clearly enough for the mic to pick up. Neither women noticed the name, staring wide-eyed at the screen, captured by the sight of that dark head at Picard’s waist, the nimble hands undoing his fly. There was a glimpse of skin, enough to tell them the man wasn’t circumcised, as Picard moaned, "We’re…we can’t do this now…" before Jones took him completely inside his mouth._ _

__"Oh, God. Q." Picard rocked gently, obviously losing himself in the sensation. Q moved his hands back to the man’s butt. "I love you…Q…"_ _

__Even over that lousy mic and through the computer’s speakers, Picard’s voice was a rumbling baritone, and the passion it conveyed an erotic recitative. The hazel eyes closed under their dark brows, but a large, strong hand was smoothing its way carefully, delicately almost, through Jones’ dark hair. Q responded by pulling back slightly, doing something with his mouth that made Picard shudder, before leaning in again, taking him deeply inside._ _

__Picard’s perfect posture was eroding, and now the smooth head bowed, his expression both rapture and love, his eyes open, looking down at Jones’ head as both hands combed through his hair and caressed the sides of his face._ _

__"I love you, Q. You’re all I want. Somehow…ohhhh…you’re all I’ve ever wanted."_ _

__Connie realized her eyes were tearing just slightly and thought dimly that they needed to turn off the monitor. But she couldn’t move, or speak, or breathe. She’d never in her life seen anything like this, and even if it damned her to hell she couldn’t turn away._ _

__One of Jones’ hands had gone to his own fly, and a hard cock tumbled out into his grasp. Picard’s head was thrown back now, and his motions were growing somewhat frantic. It was obvious he was still holding himself back from thrusting into Jones’ mouth, but the restraint only made the scene more loving. Jones stroked himself almost absently, intent on sucking the cock in his mouth harder and deeper. Picard began to shudder and roughly whispered "Q!" before slumping forward, his right hand catching the counter to steady himself._ _

__Jones came into his own hand quietly, and almost didn’t seem to notice. His other hand had come around to caress Picard’s testes, and now his tongue was cleaning him off while Picard murmured something they didn’t catch and tried to urge Jones to his feet. When the man finally rose up, Picard looked distressed to see the semen on his fingers._ _

__"Q, why – don’t you understand? I want to make you feel good too." Janet found the quiet question devastating. She’d never known lovers in the real world could be so starkly sincere._ _

__"You do, Jean-Luc. More than petty Human words can express."_ _

__Picard smiled at this evident joke between them, then looked sad and took Jones’ hand in his own. The taller man gasped – Connie and Janet did as well – when Picard’s tongue came out and slowly, delicately, licked a finger clean. Jones hissed as this treatment was applied to his entire hand with small, eager licks accompanied with a shining gaze from hazel eyes. When he was done, Picard placed a kiss in the center of Jones’ palm, then dropped gracefully to his knees and drew his lover’s softened cock into his own mouth, just for a moment, while Jones made a very quiet noise that sounded a lot like a sob._ _

__Jones took his hands and drew him back up. "We need to talk, Jean-Luc."_ _

__"For the rest of our lives, Q."_ _

__They kissed, slowly, fiercely, parting only with overt reluctance, and a final soft kiss on the other’s lips._ _

__"I love you." Jones said it aloud, but Picard had no need to answer in the same fashion. His expression screamed the words back._ _

__Then the two men straightened their posture, did up their flies, washed their hands and faces, turned, and walked out._ _

__For a full minute, Connie stared at the picture of the empty bathroom. Faint voices came over the speakers: all of them talking about the check._ _

__She couldn’t believe how aroused she was. Her nipples were hard peaks against her sheer bra and cotton shirt, and she was wet between her legs. She was panting, and her skin tingled._ _

__But more than that, she was heartsore. To be loved like that. To be wanted and needed like that…_ _

__She turned, forcing herself to meet Janet’s eyes. They would have to deal with the offense of having watched something they had no business seeing, even if Connie were incapable of feeling any guilt about it right that moment._ _

__But Janet’s brown eyes were already on her face, and she knew the expression in them. She had seen it – that very same exact expression – on Jones’ face as he looked at Picard. Connie stared, and the tingles all over her skin increased ten-fold._ _

__"Janet?" Was that her own husky voice? What the hell?_ _

__Janet leaned towards her, and though Connie could have pulled away she didn’t. Only a second of courage was required, and then warm, strong, skilled lips were on hers, and she knew a sweetness she had never tasted before. Hands caressed her face, and then one smoothed back over her scalp, and she moaned, leaning into it, her own arms coming up around Janet’s shapely body. Who knew she would feel this good in her arms?_ _

__A hand went to her breast and caressed the hard nipple there perfectly. There was somehow none of the groping quality to the touch she had come to expect when men touched her breasts, though she thought – dimly – that it was the woman herself who made the difference, not just the fact that it was a woman._ _

__Connie pulled back and looked into Janet’s dark, glittering eyes. "I don’t know what this means, Janet."_ _

__"I only know I love you, Con. I can’t explain it better than that."_ _

__She shivered at the words. To be loved by Janet. That would be really something. Just the thought of it…softly, she put her own hand over the hand at her breast, and encouraged another caress with a gentle squeeze. Janet complied, and it was even better than the first time. Connie found she was laughing._ _

__"I have absolutely no idea what to do. What if…I don’t know…I don’t want to lead you on, or…I don’t know…"_ _

__Inevitably, passionately, Janet kissed her again, and Connie felt herself melting. When Janet pulled back this time, she whimpered._ _

__"Why don’t we find out just what you like, Con?" And Janet, in one movement, was on her knees, her fingers already having undone the button on Connie’s slacks. The woman leaned back, holding herself up by the edge of the desk and felt the nylon caress of her slacks sliding down to her ankles, then the almost terrifying reality of her cotton briefs taking the same path. She shivered and bit her lip, but Janet looked up and smiled, before leaning just slightly forward and blowing into Connie’s soft patch of hair. "Don’t be afraid," she whispered. "I promise."_ _

__Connie wanted to reach out and touch Janet’s face, but if she let go of the desk she’d fall. She closed her eyes instead, slid one foot out of her shoe, pants, and panties, then leaned back against the desk as she parted her legs, and trusted._ _

__

__When they got back to their hotel room, they packed, checked out, got a limo to take them across town, and checked into the Bonaventure. Q got online and arranged for the cashier’s check, as well as the messenger, while Picard ordered sandwiches. They ate quickly, set the tray (which they had carefully examined) outside, closed and locked the door, put classical music on the radio, and took off their clothes._ _

__Picard waited for Q to get his last sock clear of his foot, then moved in to take him close, pressing his ear to Q’s chest to feel his heart, closing his eyes as he was encircled by warm arms._ _

__"Explain it to me," he said at last._ _

__"Let me suck you first."_ _

__"Only if you promise not to come before I can please you."_ _

__When Q didn’t answer, Picard looked up into his lover’s anxious eyes. "I don’t think I could promise that, Jean-Luc."_ _

__The man smiled slyly. "We could…please each other, Q."_ _

__Q’s eyes closed, and the tall form swayed. Picard smiled and pressed his erection into Q’s flank, enjoying the hard poke into his own belly. Lips played along the curve of his ear, but Q’s voice was desperate._ _

__"We need to talk first, then, Jean-Luc."_ _

__He kissed Q's lips lightly, then backed off and led him by the hand to the bed. They'd gotten a king size, and the room was quite grand, so the walk took a while, especially as they stopped every few steps, lightly kissing and caressing._ _

__In bed, Picard had to remind himself not to turn around and snuggle back against Q, instead choosing to lie on his side, propping his head on a fist. Q mirrored him, though he wedged a pillow under his head instead, and reached out to trace the curves and angles of his lover's face._ _

__"When the Q were…new, we experimented. Quite a lot. On each other."_ _

__"Sexually?"_ _

__"The Q are way beyond sex…or, we were. Q, I mean, we…damn. That didn't come out right." Penitently, Q lowered his head and kissed the nipple near Jean-Luc's heart. Picard almost told him to suck him off and then talk. "We shared our consciousnesses, and in so doing, we discovered ways of giving ourselves permanently to each other. But it wasn't sexual in that it wasn't designed in any way to be procreative. In fact, it had the opposite effect."_ _

__"Meaning?"_ _

__"Well, some Qs who did this never unjoined, and eventually our numbers declined. Where there had been two lonely Qs, now there was one very happy Q…at least until that joining wasn't enough, and another one took place."_ _

__"I can see how this would be alarming for the Continuum."_ _

__Q nodded. "So we established rules, and we enforced them. We invented what you may as well call 'Q marriages.' And they had a time limit of…in Human terms, about a million and a half years. The two parties were then forced to separate. I'm afraid…it did get a little ugly at first, but then we all got used to it. As you might think, after the first half-billion years of our existence, we had all married each other at least once. At the end of the first billion years, we'd all stopped getting married."_ _

__"To marry you would fuse with each other?"_ _

__"Sort of…perhaps that does better from your perspective than 'marriage.' But the technique involved actually relies on ingestion."_ _

__"You ate each other?"_ _

__"Now you're getting the idea." Q smiled, and shrugged. "We would take in a small part of each other's emotional essence, and in so doing hold that piece of them inside."_ _

__Picard smiled slightly. "I think I see where this is going."_ _

__"Yes. Towards the end of the whole marriage era, we were all getting a little inventive, if not downright perverse, about the ceremony. We began to join with each other in various guises -- as Amanda's parents did, as Humans. It was agreed that analogous acts performed via non-Q life forms still counted as official marriages."_ _

__"So a blow-job means we're husband and wife?" Picard's eyes twinkled, and Q felt himself relax, profoundly, deep inside._ _

__"Well, we Q never really changed the marriage laws. We just stopped using them, for the most part, anyway. So, yes…or rather, I'm married to you. You're not married to me, not yet."_ _

__"Would they still force us to part after a million and a half years?"_ _

__"I'd die with you first, Jean-Luc."_ _

__Picard knew, absolutely, that Q meant that. He had the experience which granted such statements easy sincerity. The Human felt awash in shame, for though he welcomed the ideas both of eternity and death with Q, he was unable to offer anything in return but mortal hyperbole._ _

__So instead Jean-Luc put his hand on Q's shoulder and pushed, rolling him over onto his back before he lay himself down between Q's legs. For the first time, Q didn't resist, laying his arms quietly on the comforter, moving his legs apart to accommodate Picard's body. Jean-Luc smiled and ran a hand along Q's stomach, enjoying the tender feel of skin there, the tickle of soft hairs, the indentation of his navel._ _

__He leaned down and licked, slowly, up and along the inside of Q's left thigh. Q's cock twitched while the long body shivered, and Jean-Luc licked next at Q's right thigh. They hadn't showered, and the taste of Q's sweat was strong and spicy…oddly pleasant, highly erotic, and suddenly Picard couldn't wait to fill his mouth again with Q's cock._ _

__He nuzzled only briefly, then, the warm sac, nudging the testes with his tongue, delighting in Q's moans. A long lick along the underside of the shaft brought him to the incredible softness of Q's glans, protruding now proudly from the foreskin, the slit slick and shiny and bittersweet on his tongue._ _

__"Jean-Luc…ohhhh…yessss."_ _

__Picard raised his head, and after a moment Q forced open his eyes, asking the silent question._ _

__"With my body, Q," the man rumbled, "I thee worship."_ _

__And he took Q inside his mouth._ _

__Q wanted to keep watching. Surely even in his life he’d never seen anything to compare with his Human cock smoothly disappearing inside Jean-Luc’s eloquent lips? But the sensation of heat and the knowledge of what was happening was too much to bear with sanity. His eyes closed even as his mouth opened with a groan and it was all he could do to hold on to the soft fabric under his hands and somehow keep from thrusting up. Warmth on his hips – Jean-Luc’s hands – helped to restrain him, but when the rim of Picard’s mouth slid along the sides of his cock, pushing back the foreskin, caressing him with the softest scrape of a tongue on that feather-soft skin, Q began to convulse. In a moment, with a hot rush and that unique explosion of pleasure that was almost pain, it was over._ _

__Q struggled, trying to raise his head, open his eyes. He needed to see._ _

__And Jean-Luc was watching him, waiting for those dark eyes to fix on him, before he swallowed, his expression as solemn as it had ever been while performing an alien ritual of importance, his eyes conveying nevertheless the love that Q had so long and so deeply desired._ _

__"Are you still hard?" Q croaked._ _

__A slight smile, and the deep rumble: "Only because I could not suffer the distraction." He raised up to reveal his swollen, shiny cockhead._ _

__Q took a breath, held it, and then drew his legs back slightly, and further apart. "Well, Jean-Luc. Now that we’re married…"_ _

__Picard’s eyelids actually fluttered, and his wet lips opened in a gasp._ _

__"Do you want that, Q?"_ _

__Q smiled. "To be filled by you, Jean-Luc? To know you want me that way? To bind you to me this way…one more way…any way…Of course I want it."_ _

__Picard shivered. "God, Q. Just the thought of it." His eyes shone as he looked over Q’s body. "You should turn on your side."_ _

__"I want to watch you."_ _

__"We need lubricant."_ _

__Q chuckled. "The first-aid kit."_ _

__Picard nodded, but then lay himself softly down over Q’s body. His lips met his lover’s, and for a long moment they did nothing but kiss, not even going inside each other that way, pressing gently to the other._ _

__"This is my life now," Jean-Luc murmured. "Making love to you. Loving you."_ _

__"Being loved by me, Jean-Luc."_ _

__The man smiled, then almost seemed to growl, or purr, as Q’s hand caressed his scalp, exploring, soothing. "I am sorry for every moment you believed I did not love you."_ _

__"For years you didn’t."_ _

__"Miracles can take a while to happen," Picard said, his eyes laughing at his own words, and yet they were sincerely spoken._ _

__Q raised an eyebrow. "It’s a miracle that you love me, then?"_ _

__"It’s a miracle that I can be here with you like this. A miracle that we’ve managed to find each other and what we can be together."_ _

__Q smiled somewhat absently. "Not such a miracle, so I’ve been told."_ _

__"What does that mean?"_ _

__"It’s a long story. Perhaps for another night."_ _

__Picard’s eyes narrowed, but he placed a small kiss on Q’s nose before rising from the bed and going into the bathroom. The first-aid kit seemed to have gained even more items since he’d last looked at it, and with a smile, he took two before he returned to the bedroom._ _

__And stood, for a moment, looking at Q lying naked on his back, waiting for him._ _

__Q smiled, especially as his eyes glittered at the hard cock Picard sported, then his eyes returned to the man’s face, and he looked just a little worried._ _

__"What?"_ _

__"You’re lovely, Q."_ _

__The entity stretched, languidly, but Picard saw the joy on his face. His voice, however, was sheer challenge. "Then come over here and get it."_ _

__But Picard approached slowly, and settled on the bed near Q’s feet._ _

__"There’s something I’ve been wanting to do to you for a while."_ _

__"Oh?"_ _

__Jean-Luc nodded, and smoothed some of the cream onto his fingers. Q sniffed, and then, to the man’s surprise, moaned softly and grew rather obviously aroused. At Picard’s look, Q confessed:_ _

__"I’ve had similar thoughts."_ _

__He smiled, and warmed the cream slightly between his hands before he reached for Q’s closest foot, rubbing the Ben-Gay into his arch, then into the ball of his foot._ _

__Q gasped. "How – how did you know?"_ _

__"I’ve seen you wincing and rubbing at your feet often enough, Q. I suppose omnipotent entities aren’t used to walking."_ _

__Q started to tremble, and an expression almost of sorrow formed on his face._ _

__"Q?" Picard grew still._ _

__"Don’t stop, Jean-Luc. I just…I love you. You don’t know how much."_ _

__Picard reached gently down and kissed the inside of Q’s ankle. "I love you, Q. You don’t know how much."_ _

__They didn’t speak for a time after that, though Q made many sounds of pleasure as the captain’s hands soothed away weeks’ of ache in the muscles of his feet and legs. When Picard urged him to turn over, he did so with a sigh of bliss, hissing as that cold-hot sensation was massaged into his shoulders, his back – oh, that felt so damn good – and his arms._ _

__Picard made sure there was not a trace of the ointment left on his hands when he moved to Q’s backside, covering his fingers instead with the simple lubricant. Q’s ass had gained a little definition with all his running, but it was hardly jutting or globed. It was…uniquely Q’s body, a little broad, infinitely sweet, and warm to his touch._ _

__Q had long since done nothing to resist him, even unconsciously, and the muscles under Picard’s hands were almost completely relaxed. When he used a finger to caress between Q’s cheeks, the long body shivered again, and Q sighed._ _

__"Yes. Do it," the entity mumbled. "Feels good."_ _

__Holding a shallow breath, Picard gently but firmly slid his finger inside Q, and both of them gasped. Q was so hot inside, and tight._ _

__Jean-Luc bit his lip. "Q, are you sure you…when you made your Human body to be here, are you sure you can do this? You’re so tight."_ _

__Q laughed, a sloppy, almost drugged chuckle. "Oh, yeah. You can fuck me, Johnny."_ _

__Picard felt his cock pulse. He’d only kept himself from coming all this while with the promise of what it would be like to be inside Q, and now that that reality was approaching, the promise itself was almost too erotic to withstand._ _

__He moved his finger in and out, and found in time that he could add another, one from each hand, pulling at the sides of Q’s anus just a bit each time. One, then the other, then both…Q was groaning and thrusting into the bedspread._ _

__"Hurry up. Do it. I need you in there. Fuck me. Now! Now, damnit. Hurry up…"_ _

__Q held three fingers before Picard shifted position, withdrawing his hands from Q’s anus and slathering his cock with lubricant. He almost came in his own hands, steadied himself with a deep breath, and then another._ _

__"Jean-Luc?"_ _

__"Yes, Q?"_ _

__"Put a pillow under my hips, please."_ _

__Picard nodded at the back of Q’s head, faltered for a moment before he remembered the pillows were right there at the top of the bed, grabbed one from under the comforter, and put it where Q needed it._ _

__Q sighed, and seemed to relax even more._ _

__"Now, Jean-Luc."_ _

__"Yes, Q."_ _

__Jean-Luc leaned forward, putting the weight of his upper body on his right hand while his left one guided his oiled cock to the opening he had prepared, then slid slowly inside._ _

__It was hot and tight and smooth and made for his cock, and heaven, and fire, and music, and he was so close to Q this way, so undeniably inside Q’s body. With both hands holding him up now, he soared, floating, fucking Q…_ _

__When Q moved back against the pressure inside him, he expected Jean-Luc to start pumping him, and almost protested when instead the man rocked with him. Hands were smoothing over his hips, and then the pressure inside increased as Jean-Luc moved to cover him completely, settling over his back, pressing their legs and arms together. Lips kissed his back, and he felt a soft cheek laid between his shoulder blades. Then Picard didn’t move at all, and Q wondered if he would break to pieces from the force of a stray breeze._ _

__"You see?" Q whispered. "You fit."_ _

__"Do the Q have something equivalent to this as well?"_ _

__Q sighed in relief at that strong, steady, but somewhat dreamy voice. Whatever Jean-Luc was doing, he was enjoying it._ _

__"Yes. We call it ‘fucking.’"_ _

__Jean-Luc chuckled. "I’d call this making love, myself."_ _

__"That too."_ _

__More soft kisses on his black, and Q thought he might start screaming. He was so hard it hurt, and he thought the pressure in his body was going to send him into spasms any minute._ _

___You’re not five billion years old for nothing. If this is what he wants, give it to him!_ _ _

__But what did Jean-Luc want? What the hell was he waiting for?_ _

__For that moment, it seemed. The pressure inside him eased slightly, then pulsed, and Q groaned into the bed, and the force with the next thrust increased. Slightly harder, then slightly harder again, and Q was making noise constantly. Despite the lubricant, there was friction inside him, and it burned into waves of sparks, each one a thrill down along his nerves to each finger and toe and the ends of his hair. He moved back without coordination, but Jean-Luc’s rhythm was perfect, glorious…all he wanted._ _

__"God, I love you, Q."_ _

__Q screamed and tried to get himself in rhythm now, moving back and forth, loving the connection, the pressure, the small grunts Jean-Luc was making – everything was just so there and it built up and up until, unable to help it, he came hard, dizzy with it, moaning with the little strength he had left as liquid heat filled him._ _

__Jean-Luc felt Q come, and thrust harder, wanting to join him, wanting to touch him this way as well. But his body was already there, already coming inside his lover, the one he had finally found, the one who wanted all that he was, all that he wanted, freely, to give._ _

__And Q took that, and more, and they lay together a long, long time, aware of nothing but the other. When eventually Jean-Luc had to move, they took each other in their arms, and held on, not speaking, not needing to speak, drifting in and out of sleep no more or less peaceful than waking and knowing the other was there._ _

__It was a testament to the hotel that when they ordered a snack at three in the morning they receiving nothing but the politest, promptest service. Once the tray was again outside, and they had moved the plates to the bed, curled around them while remaining within kissing distance, Jean-Luc fed Q a forkful of his crab salad, kissed mayonnaise-flavored lips, and urged him gently:_ _

__"You said it was a long story?"_ _

__Q nodded and drank from his wineglass. "And I don’t think it’s a true one, either. Although, you should know, Q thought it was true…probably still does, poor thing."_ _

__Jean-Luc simply waited. He doubted whether he could feel impatience at that moment with anyone or anything in the universe. There thrummed just beneath his skin a warm awareness of joy that made everything else a response which could be welcomed or ignored…everything except Q, the sight of whom fueled and directed each sensation of his body._ _

__"You mean the Q of this other universe, the one who created the tear in the time-space continuum?"_ _

__"Yeah, him."_ _

__Jean-Luc touched Q’s mouth with his fingertips, and received several kisses on them for his trouble._ _

__"He was looking for his Jean-Luc," Q murmured._ _

__"His Jean-Luc?"_ _

__"Yes. He was in love with him, you see, in his own universe, but that Picard didn’t love him back. He thought there must have been some sort of mix-up, and was looking for the Jean-Luc he felt he was supposed to be getting."_ _

__Picard frowned. He wanted to put his question lightly, but avoid offending Q. "He didn’t think perhaps he was just unlucky?"_ _

__"Well, no." Q plucked a strawberry from the fruit plate and brought it Jean-Luc’s lips, watching as that expressive mouth sucked the fruit inside, then chewed it slowly. "He had this theory about the need for all the Qs in all the universes to have a ‘significant’ relationship with all the Picards: a universal constant."_ _

__"So you and I are destined to be together?" Jean-Luc smiled and brought a grape to Q’s lips, sighing slightly when his fingertips were nibbled._ _

__"Hmmm. Actually, he told me a story…several stories, actually…about the Qs and Picards he’d seen on his travels. But if you like, I'll tell you my favorite."_ _

__"Hmm?"_ _

__"Well, one of my favorites. As you can imagine, he and I got along pretty well."_ _

__Picard laughed and kissed Q, losing himself in that warm mouth for a time. A hot hand touched his penis softly, a caress meant only to be tender, and he shivered with a gasp._ _

__Q withdrew suddenly, smiling. "Need a bit more time, do we?"_ _

__Picard acknowledged with a small shrug. "If you want me to be responsive…"_ _

__Q’s eyes closed suddenly, and his color went slightly dark. "One day soon I’ll make love to you when you’re all tuckered out, and can’t do anything but enjoy it."_ _

__Jean-Luc felt his smile settle comfortably into his face. "You thinking of being inside me, Q?"_ _

__Q looked ready to moan, but settled for smiling back. "We are inside each other, Jean-Luc, remember?"_ _

__"Tell your story." The man lay back on the bed, his arms behind his head, and stared lazily into the dark, beloved face._ _

__"Well, from what I understand, there’s this universe where Jean-Luc Picard is a fashion model."_ _

__Picard closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly, but he didn’t interrupt._ _

__"From what Q said, I gather this Picard basically humped anything in pants. The ultimate party boy. This is about…oh, the very early 22nd century on Earth, so he was safe enough from social diseases and, of course, inadvertent pregnancies, but emotionally, he was something of a wreck. He wasn’t a super-model, if you can believe it, but he made a good enough living to support his somewhat decadent lifestyle._ _

__"He wasn’t what anyone would call unhappy, and he had a lot of friends. Real friends. People who cared about him. He was burning the candle at both ends, but he wasn’t really interested in living past the day when his ass started to sag –"_ _

__"Are you certain you’re not making this up, Q?"_ _

__Q made a shushing gesture. "And he had the sense to stay away from drugs. So though he played the field like a one-man rugby team, he was doing all right…physically. Only inside was he feeling ever more desperate and despairing." Q paused and seemed slightly troubled by his own story. Picard reached up for a quick kiss._ _

__"Jean-Luc, who was only known in the trade by his first name, had had a rather cold relationship with his father and older brother. His mother had died when he was nine years old, and his father…well, let’s just say that even in the 22nd century certain fathers couldn’t tolerate the idea of queer sons. Jean-Luc was on his own by fifteen, and basically sold his ass to get into the modeling business."_ _

__"So he thought his looks were all he had?"_ _

__"Uh huh."_ _

__Picard thought for a moment, while Q admired the dark brows drawn together. "I can’t say I see much similarity between this fashion model and myself, Q."_ _

__"Patience, Jean-Luc. Now, one day he’s just a little strapped for cash – all that partying does take a toll on the wallet, you know – and so he takes a gig for a lot of money that’s really not what he should be doing." Q settled his body slightly on the bed, and Jean-Luc was privately awed by how much the simple play of light over the entity’s skin affected him. "So he takes this job for a high salary where he’s going to jump out of a cake for this Japanese big-wig who has an eye for the boys. It’s firmly understood that all he’s going to do is jump out of the cake, sign some autographs, and take a few party shots with no nudity. After all, there will be some wives at the party, and the kids will be in the next room, and all that."_ _

__"Are you about to tell me that in this universe you’re Japanese?"_ _

__"No, and stop trying to jump to the end. Jean-Luc takes the job, and he’s waiting there in the kitchen, and he’s feeling that this is pretty much the end of things. A few more shoots, and then maybe some sleeping pills, like Marilyn. Or perhaps a scarf, like Isadora Duncan. And you must understand, he’s not even sad about it. He figures he’s had a good life, a fun ride. And dying was just so much easier than learning how to be an old queen."_ _

__Picard began to realize why this sounded just a little familiar._ _

__"So out he goes in the cake, and he sits in the birthday boy’s lap and poses for some shots, drinks some champagne, keeps a smile plastered on his face. Somewhere along the line he gets drunker than usual, and he vaguely remembers later that there was this military guy whose hat he grabbed and wore, and that this struck everyone as just incredibly amusing._ _

__"The next morning he wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, which is hardly a first for Jean-Luc. The only thing strange is that his ass doesn’t hurt. In fact, he’s not sure he had sex at all. There’s no taste in his mouth, no semen in the nice clean bed. He realizes he still has his party clothes on._ _

__"He also realizes the room is swaying, just a bit. He decides he’s hungover and gets up to stagger his way to the loo. In the little room, he doesn’t look in the mirror, and while he’s in there he’s holding his little man and thinking about how pointless everything is. It’s really quite tragic, Johnny."_ _

__"You know I’m agog, Q. Go on."_ _

__"So he comes out of the can and decides not to get back in bed. He’s hungry, and he’d like a cigarette. But then he finds that the door to his room is locked. This pisses him off, and he starts pounding on the door and cussing loudly and the whole tantrum’s in high gear when suddenly the door opens and there is…can you guess who?"_ _

__"The military man whose hat he stole."_ _

__Q smiled, brilliantly, and leaned in for a satisfyingly deep and passionate exploration of each other's mouths. Picard, however, pulled back. "I want to hear the whole thing now, Q."_ _

__Q sighed, then lay back so they could look at each other comfortably, and began:_ _

__

__Jean-Luc didn’t realize at first that this was the military officer, because the tall, dark, incredibly handsome man was in his civilian clothes._ _

__"What do you mean by locking me in here?" Jean-Luc demanded._ _

__"I just wanted to make sure we talked before you went walking about the ship," the tall, dark, incredibly handsome man answered._ _

__"Ship?" Jean-Luc demanded. "What ship? And who the devil are you?"_ _

__"Captain Jones, Quentin Jones. We met last night."_ _

__Jean-Luc scowled at him. "I need a cigarette."_ _

__"I don’t carry them aboard, I’m afraid. You’ll have to make do with coffee."_ _

__"Where is it?"_ _

__"In the galley. If you’ll follow me…"_ _

__Jean-Luc followed Quentin in silence, looking around at the very clean yacht, and in the galley the captain poured them both cups of coffee. Jean-Luc sat down to drink his, and then scowled up at the clock. It was almost noon._ _

__"When are we getting to shore? I need to use your phone."_ _

__"No."_ _

__"No?" Jean-Luc scowled at Quentin now. "No to what?"_ _

__"No, we’re not going to shore. No, you cannot use the phone."_ _

__"Why the hell not?"_ _

__"You’re not going to use the phone, you’re not going to get on the radio, you’re not going to call your agent or your dealer. You’re not going to pose for pictures. You’re not going to jump out of the cake."_ _

__"Look, ‘Captain,’ if you think for one moment –"_ _

__"You’re the one who needs to do some thinking. A lot of it. And this, I assure you, is the place."_ _

__Jean-Luc looked around the small galley, noticing again how clean everything was. There must be quite a staff here, constantly polishing and washing things down. He could do with a wash himself, he thought. His black leather pants were sour with sweat, and his black tank top stank of stale beer._ _

__And then faintly he smelled the salt of the sea. It soothed him, and that really pissed him off. He glared now at Jones, and set down his coffee cup._ _

__"I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but –"_ _

__"Intervention."_ _

__"What?"_ _

__"Intervention. This is. An intervention."_ _

__"You’re joking."_ _

__Jones shook his head slowly, his intent brown eyes never leaving Jean-Luc’s face. "You’re going to stay on this ship until you figure things out."_ _

__"You can’t just –"_ _

__"I assure you I can. We’ve got all the supplies we need for quite a while, and I’m afraid you won’t find any of my crew willing to go against my orders. As far as they’re concerned you’re a troubled friend under my care."_ _

__Suddenly, Jean-Luc smiled a hard, knowing smile, and he leaned back as his hooded hazel eyes traveled slowly over the expanse of the tall man before him. Dark eyes, dark hair just slightly tinged with gray at the temples, a tall body, well-built, and though he stood with military discipline his form radiated energy. His full lips were sensual, and expressive, and his nose was big only to keep up with the rest of his face. He was a strange cross between odd-looking and just really sexy, and Jean-Luc’s smile curled out to show teeth as he put his hands on his black-leather-clad hips._ _

__"There’s no need to get so elaborate," he said quietly. "It’s really not that difficult to get my attention."_ _

__"Mr. Picard, I assure you –"_ _

__"If you’re going to fuck me here in your galley," Jean-Luc purred, "please feel free to use my first name." He swayed forward, titling his head back, wetting his lips. "And you know the best part? I’ll be just as good as you thought I’d be."_ _

__Captain Jones raised an eyebrow. "This isn’t about that."_ _

__"No?" Another smile. "And why not?"_ _

__"For one thing, I’m not homosexual."_ _

__Jean-Luc frowned at him, then snorted. "Why would a perfect stranger kidnap me and whisk me off on his private yacht if his intentions were so honorable?"_ _

__"Because I’d rather try to help you than kill you."_ _

__The compact body seemed to freeze._ _

__"Don’t you remember that, Mr. Picard? Don’t you remember offering me $20,000, your salary for jumping out of the cake, I believe, if I would take my military-issue, nickel-plated sidearm from my holster and shoot you in the head?"_ _

__Jean-Luc licked his lips again, then squared his shoulders. He did, rather horrifyingly, remember. "I don’t care what I said in a drunken stupor. This isn’t legal, and I want you to take me back…" The word "home" just wouldn’t come to his lips. "…where I belong."_ _

__"This is where you belong. For now." Jones stepped back. "Feel free to walk about the ship. The lifeboats are locked down. My crew do have orders to restrain you if you pose a danger to yourself or to others. There’s some bread here in this cupboard if you want to make toast. I’ll see you at lunch."_ _

__And with a nod, the captain turned and walked out of the small room. Jean-Luc stood resolutely for a moment, then sat down and held his head._ _

__He really needed a cigarette._ _

__In the end, he went back to his room down the hall and lay on the bed. After a while, he slept, and when he woke up his head was pounding and his hands were shaking._ _

__I’m dying._ _

__Someone knocked on the door._ _

__"Go away unless you’ve got a cigarette."_ _

__The door opened, and Jones came in, holding a glass of tomato juice. Jean-Luc glared at him, though he knew the juice would make him feel better. Jones looked at his expression, set the glass on the nightstand, and left._ _

__Jean-Luc drank the glassful off in one go, burped, fell back to the bed, and slept like the dead._ _

__A light touch on his wrist pulled him from sleep hours later, but in the dim room he saw only long red hair and a sweetly curved mouth._ _

__"What?" he rasped._ _

__"Just checking your pulse. And I think you should drink some of this."_ _

__The woman pressed a glass of something warm to his lips, and, surrendering, he drank down the salty, meaty broth. It felt wonderful going down, and settled quietly into his stomach._ _

__She touched his forehead, and her cool hand felt like an angel’s._ _

__"I need a shower," he whispered, apologizing._ _

__"Shh. In the morning."_ _

__He nodded and closed his eyes._ _

__

__Q left off the story. His own Jean-Luc was nodding off, and he’d grown quite sleepy himself. He leaned down for a kiss, then settled down beside that warm, strong body, and left himself drift off. Four hours later they had awoken, showered, packed, and vacated the hotel._ _

__There was only the question of how to get back to New Orleans._ _

__"Q," Picard said reasonably as they tucked into omelets and fruit salad in a widow-ringed restaurant on PCH, "the longer we take to get back to the warehouse, the more possibility that they will have started to nose around. We have to get the equipment out of there as soon as we can."_ _

__"I’m not going up in another plane, Jean-Luc. Forget it. We’ll drive day and night to get back. It will take two days."_ _

__"Driving through the night is more dangerous than a thousand plane rides. We’re much safer in a plane than a car."_ _

__"No. This is not open to negotiation. At worst, in two days they’ll have made some routine observation of our place. They can’t get in without setting off the alarm, and if the alarm doesn’t scare them off, then the charges will go and we won’t have to get back there anyway."_ _

__Picard drained his coffee cup, then watched as their actor-wanna-be waiter refilled it._ _

__"We’ll be harder to trace in a car, especially as we’ll be using our back-up credit cards," Q pointed out when they were alone again. "For all we know if we flew we could land in Louisiana and be greeted by the feds."_ _

__"That seems an unlikely scenario, Q." But he knew he was giving in, not to Q’s argument, but simply to Q._ _

__Q sensed it as well, and let the comment pass. Picard sighed._ _

__"All right. But let’s make sure we buy something with an automatic transmission."_ _

__"How about something with a huge backseat?"_ _

__Picard frowned, then rolled his eyes. "You’re the one who couldn’t get out of the hotel fast enough this morning."_ _

__"I just kept having this vision of their breaking down our door right when we got to the good part."_ _

__Picard smiled and set his cup down. Then looked at Q._ _

__"What?"_ _

__"I just…have difficulty believing I can be like this with you, that you can feel so comfortable to me."_ _

__"Comfortable?" Q looked slightly offended._ _

__Jean-Luc wasn’t fooled. "You know how long it takes me to relax around other people. I never thought the judge of the 21st century court of horrors would make a good breakfast companion."_ _

__Q looked ready to reply, then snapped his mouth shut._ _

__"What?"_ _

__Q looked reluctant, then spoke with obviously careful phrasing, "I wouldn’t want you to feel you have to give up your breakfasts with…Beverly."_ _

__"You won’t mind her joining us, then?"_ _

__For an instant, Q looked so touched as to be almost shattered, then rallied with a quick look around. "I suppose I could get used to medical talk over coffee and croissants."_ _

__Picard smiled. "Q, there is still a chance we can figure out some way to stay in this world at least for a time. I did like that idea of yours, buying an island somewhere."_ _

__"That sort of show of money and autonomy would have the feds coming after us in no time."_ _

__"Then perhaps somewhere quiet, after faking our deaths…a small apartment in the middle of Portland, or Kalamazoo."_ _

__"You’d do that?"_ _

__"To be with you? Of course."_ _

__Q frowned deeply. "The idea of the danger you’re in here…it’s too selfish of me to want to stay."_ _

__"I can decide my own acceptable level of danger, Q. And you know yourself our relationship is in danger in our own world." Picard smiled grimly at the look on Q’s face. "Do you think I don’t know that the Continuum will be all over us? And as for what my crew will say when I tell them we’re lovers…there’s a chance Starfleet will ask me to end the relationship. I say no, they park me behind a desk, you end up feeling guilty, and I feel resentful, and even though we stay together both of us worry that it’s ruined."_ _

__"Is that what you think will happen?"_ _

__"I have a hundred scenarios in my head, Q, and you have doubtlessly many more." Hazel eyes pierced him. "What’s your nightmare?"_ _

__Q had the look of a man confessing to murder, but he told Picard in some detail his last encounter with Captain Janeway, explaining his desire for a child to bring a new age to the Continuum. To his relief, Picard didn’t seem to feel threatened by any of it, though he didn’t seem particularly pleased to hear Q’s recounting of the manner in which his son had basically become community property._ _

__"There will doubtlessly be many more children of the Continuum in time," Q said. "Whatever happens, it will all mean a great change, and now…"_ _

__"Now?" Picard signaled for the check._ _

__"And now I have no idea what they will think about you. They could try to take you from me a thousand different ways. I’ll die before I’ll let that happen, but…no one Q can stand up to the Continuum, Jean-Luc…whatever Q says."_ _

__Somehow, Picard knew Q was referring to the Q who had come through from the other universe, but he refused to be distracted._ _

__"Do you think it more likely they will object than that they will accept our relationship?"_ _

__Q reached for his wallet then set his platinum card on the table. "I don’t know."_ _

__"I’d rather stay here and be with you, Q, than be ‘safe.’"_ _

__Q looked at him, not even glancing up as the waiter walked by and scooped up his card._ _

__"Then we’ll stay," the entity announced._ _

__"We could always move to Switzerland."_ _

__Q made a face. "I hate snow."_ _

__

__They drove the rental car to San Diego, then bought a silver Toyota Camry with automatic transmission, CD player, anti-lock brakes and tinted windows under the name "Herman Lewis." Q got them an extremely normal-looking five-year financing and even managed to set up an online account that would make the payments for them. Picard, meanwhile, turned in the rental and checked them in for a pre-paid one-week stay at the Hilton. He walked over a mile before catching a taxi and meeting Q back at the car lot, and by then he wore a baseball cap and sunglasses._ _

__They were on the I-10 before mid-afternoon._ _

__Picard folded back the map neatly and wedged it down into the pocket of the car door. There wasn’t much to navigate, since they had no need to avoid the interstate. Basically, it was a straight shot back to New Orleans._ _

__So he was surprised when Q, who had spoken little since they began the drive, asked him how far it was to the next rest stop._ _

__Picard got the map back into his hands. "Fifteen miles."_ _

__"Does it have picnic tables?"_ _

__Eyebrows raised, Picard checked. "Yes."_ _

__Q nodded, then shot a look sideways that made Picard’s red alert start to sound._ _

__"Would you do something for me, Jean-Luc?"_ _

__"In all likelihood."_ _

__"Would you take your shirt off?"_ _

__"Here in the car?"_ _

__"I got tinted windows."_ _

__Picard smiled, though he felt more than a little awkward. "I did wonder about that."_ _

__Q waited a moment while Picard sat there, then sighed. "Well, not if you don’t want to, of course."_ _

__Jean-Luc sat forward, reached around, and drew his buttoned, dark-blue shirt out of his black trousers, then unbuttoned the front and shrugged out of it. The road was straight and there wasn’t much traffic this far out. Q didn’t take his eyes from the road for long, but he made good use of the time he spent looking at Picard’s body._ _

__"Thank you, Jean-Luc."_ _

__They didn’t speak again until Q turned off for the rest stop, and even then they only murmured as they found a shady spot in which to park, well-removed from the toilets and the line of parked trucks._ _

__Q’s hands were immediately on Jean-Luc’s chest, stroking through his hair, caressing his nipples. They leaned forward for their kiss, and seemed to meld together, groaning into the other’s mouth. Q dragged his mouth away and down, but Jean-Luc caught his head in his hands and shook his own._ _

__"No, Q. Not like that. I want to suck you too."_ _

__Q shuddered as his hands fell to Picard’s lap, undoing his fly._ _

__"God, Q. I wish you could be inside me."_ _

__That made Q’s hands freeze, if only for a moment. Picard took the opportunity to swing his legs around, folding them up against the car seat and putting his head in Q’s lap. Q was reaching over now, and turning his hips, getting Jean-Luc free of his pants even as the man was releasing Q’s erection. In another moment, they both had taken the other’s cock deeply inside._ _

__And for a moment, they simply held the other there, not sucking, not stroking, relaxing as their urgency eased for a heartbeat or two with the satisfaction of being connected. Jean-Luc wanted to say that he loved Q, but couldn’t make himself let go. Instead, he brought his hand under Q’s shirt and stroked his stomach as he began, delicately, to suck._ _

__Q moaned around Jean-Luc's penis, and the reverberation went all through him, laying down the path for the fire that followed. His legs bucked against the door as Q took him deeper inside, sucking hard, devouring him while he worked to give Q all the pleasure he could, until, as with so many things between them, it became a contest. Picard caressed Q’s sensitive nipples with great care even as he took the hot cock in his mouth so deeply he knew any attempt to breathe would choke him. Q cupped the soft sac so near to his lips, shifting the weight of the testes in time to his hot, pumping mouth. They struggled together, to win not over the other, but over their need to release the other, to throw back their head and scream and come hard inside their lover’s heat._ _

__Jean-Luc eased back, breathing in the smell of Q’s arousal, and felt faint. Just as he had wished, he was drowning in Q, in visions of being with Q, in knowing that Q was drowning too. He gasped for breath and felt Q’s cock pulse in his hand a second before he shot over them both with a confined convulsion of his whole long, shuddering body. Jean-Luc screamed and emptied himself a second after, feeling his lover drain him in luscious suckling that made him wish, incoherently, that he could be emptied completely into Q, that they could stop the nonsense of not being the same person and exist as they were meant to._ _

__Then his head fell back against Q’s thigh, and there was only warmth and belonging_ _

__

__So Jean-Luc slept through his first day there."_ _

__Q nodded, his hands easy on the wheel as he drove at exactly 65 MPH in the right-hand lane._ _

__"Right."_ _

__

__Jean-Luc’s second day on the yacht wasn’t much different from his first. He took a shower and ate two meals in his bed, waited on by a thin, pale-looking man who answered none of his questions in the politest manner possible. He thought about getting up for a walk around the ship in what was probably the afternoon, but it was too tempting to stay in the cool, clean bed – someone had changed the sheets while he was in the shower – and just rest._ _

__The third day he got up with determination. This had been lovely, and there was no denying he felt much better, but he’d been here long enough. He thought he had a shoot that weekend, and his answering machine was probably refusing to record any more messages. He found some sweats and a T-shirt in the closet and pulled them on, feeling a little sexy without underwear, and definitely in the mood for hot coffee and a cigarette._ _

__When he opened the door, however, he stood face-to-chest with one of the largest men he’d ever seen._ _

__After a moment, he realized that the man wasn’t so large. His presence was simply huge, with dark, gleaming skin, fierce eyes, and natural scowl. His crossed arms loosened as though reluctantly from the broad chest as he took a breath prior to speaking._ _

__"I am to accompany you to the galley."_ _

__Jean-Luc nodded, then cleared his throat. "Do you have a cigarette?"_ _

__The tall man very slightly growled. "No, I do not."_ _

__Picard let himself strike the "gay shrug," to no effect, then gave up and walked down the hall to the galley._ _

__Captain Jones was reading over some charts or something and drinking coffee. He looked up with a polite smile. "Good morning, Mr. Picard."_ _

__"Okay, that’s a good place to start. My name is Jean-Luc. Plain, simple, Jean-Luc."_ _

__Jones shrugged. "If you like. There’s coffee and toast made, and the cook will get you whatever else you like…except for cigarettes."_ _

__Jean-Luc’s mouth closed._ _

__"We have none aboard."_ _

__"I’ve been smoking since I was fourteen."_ _

__"Congratulations."_ _

__"I don’t need you or anyone else to order me about!"_ _

__"I don’t recall giving you an order."_ _

__"I don’t want to be here!"_ _

__"That much is clear."_ _

__Jean-Luc thought about throwing something. "You can’t do this to me!"_ _

__"When someone tries to hire me to kill them, I feel that does give me some degree of responsibility towards them."_ _

__"I was drunk."_ _

__"That did not seem to be an unusual state with you."_ _

__"You know nothing about my life."_ _

__"True."_ _

__Jean-Luc almost tripped, though he was standing quite still, his hands on his hips, his chin high. Jones’ quiet admission seemed to make the floor jerk slightly._ _

__"I believe you really do need to eat something," the captain said quietly._ _

__With a snarl to hide his confusion, Jean-Luc sat in the available chair. "Eggs," he muttered. "Scrambled. And toast with no butter."_ _

__Jones nodded, and for the first time Jean-Luc realized there were discreet shutters along one wall above a counter. The shutters fluttered slightly._ _

__"This is some crew you have here," he couldn’t help noting._ _

__"They have served with me for some time," Jones said, and there was a touch of sadness in it._ _

__"Meaning?"_ _

__"Am I to tell you the story of my life, Jean-Luc?"_ _

__It was…odd to hear his name in Jones’ mouth._ _

__"We have to talk about something, I suppose," the man said at last. "And my life story doesn’t really interest me."_ _

__To Jean-Luc’s surprise, Jones took this as his cue, and in a quiet voice as they ate their breakfasts – coffee and croissants for Jones – the captain explained that he was not exactly retired from the Navy, but had been put on a sort of honorary reserve. He and his crew were being reprimanded, and their case was still under review, for actions they had taken at sea without direct orders. Jones stood by his decision to fire on the Libyan ship, but would accept the decision of the Navy. He even spoke with quiet fondness of retiring completely and sailing in his ship full-time. Jean-Luc found it remarkable that the man expected his crew to remain with him, and could not help feeling a little but sharp jealousy at engendering that kind of trust and loyalty. His own life seemed bleak and empty and lonely by comparison._ _

__But then, it is bleak and empty and lonely, isn’t it, little Johnny?_ _

__After breakfast, he was given a long tour of the ship, while he began to feel more and more furious with himself that he wasn’t more furious with Jones. It was ridiculous that he should allow this abduction with no more than a token protest._ _

__But the damn ship was fascinating. It was extremely large, and the whole thing was so clean Jean-Luc couldn’t believe it. The main salon was as large as a ballroom, and the bar, he noted, very well-stocked._ _

__Jones saw him looking over the bottles and shrugged. "Feel free to help yourself."_ _

__Jean-Luc looked at him in surprise. "You won’t let me smoke but you’ll let me drink."_ _

__Jones frowned. "I would let you smoke if we had any cigarettes. I have ordered some for you on the next supply run."_ _

__Jean-Luc blinked. "Oh."_ _

__"I’m not trying to reform you, Mr. – Jean-Luc. I just want to give you some time to think. You have so much to live for, it seems obvious to me that your desire to kill yourself is…not logical."_ _

__Jean-Luc finally felt a little of anger he needed. "What do you think you know about what I have to live for?"_ _

__Jones shrugged mildly. "Since you don’t want to talk about yourself, very little."_ _

__"But you just go ahead and say that anyway?" His hands had returned to his hips. If the large guy – Mr. Worf – hadn’t been standing in the corner, he would have gotten in Jones’ face a little._ _

__"You have money, fame, good-looks, people who seem to care about you..."_ _

__Something in Jean-Luc’s face must have reacted. Jones let a moment pass in silence._ _

__"Is that it, Jean-Luc? Have you no one who cares about you? You seemed surrounded by friends at the party."_ _

__Jean-Luc smiled without humor. "I can always draw a crowd by shaking my ass."_ _

__Jones frowned and seemed to sink into thought. Jean-Luc’s stomach growled, and the tall man snapped out of it._ _

__"It’s lunchtime."_ _

__Jean-Luc shrugged. "I never eat lunch."_ _

__Jones frowned again. "But you’re hungry."_ _

__"A boy has to keep his figure."_ _

__The frown became a scowl. "You don’t have to do that with me."_ _

__Jean-Luc’s face took on a fey grin. "What? You’re the big, strong captain. You sure I’m not here to play ‘Cabin Boy?’"_ _

__"Quite sure."_ _

__"Where is Mrs. Captain Jones, anyway?" Jean-Luc saw the big guy in the corner stiffen._ _

__"She’s dead," Jones said with that uniquely quiet voice._ _

__Jean-Luc’s waspish retort about lonely widowers just wouldn’t make it past his lips. He found himself looking at the bottles of Absolut._ _

__"I have a son, just a little over a year old," Jones said as though nothing were wrong. "Would you like to meet him?"_ _

__It would be so easy. He knew Jones wouldn’t stop him if he went to the shelf and poured himself something tall and cool. He almost smiled. Jones was pretty tall and cool himself._ _

__Actually, "Cabin Boy" wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Was the guy really so straight?_ _

__"Yes," he said. "Why not?"_ _

__Jones nodded, and soon they were on the other side of the ship. A clean, white door opened onto what was obviously a nursery, and a beautiful woman with dark, curly hair was rocking quietly in a chair, a bundle of blankets in her arms._ _

__"Hello, Captain," the woman said._ _

__"Hello, Deanna. This is Jean-Luc. Jean-Luc, this is Dr. Deanna Riker, my first officer’s wife. And this is my son, Quentin Junior, I'm afraid."_ _

__Jean-Luc felt almost dizzy looking down at the large brown eyes looking up at him from the depths of the bundle._ _

__"You need something to eat," the woman murmured, and suddenly he was looking into her own dark brown eyes. Sympathy, understanding, concern…_ _

__"Who are you people?"_ _

__Jones and Deanna just looked at him as he glared, then turned and strode from the room. He needed air. He had to breathe some air before he gagged, before he suffocated._ _

__He hadn’t really been on the deck before, and it was impossible that the sea was so blue and bright, reflecting the sky, which had not a single cloud in it. He tried to breathe, but the deck was moving, and he couldn’t stand the glare of the sun. He fell to his knees, gasping, his heart racing, his eyes closed against the blinding heat and the way the world was spinning and oh God he was dying. He was dying. Oh God._ _

__When the panic attack receded, he was back inside, lying down on a couch, a cold cloth on his head. Deanna was there, sitting close by without any sign of the baby._ _

__"What happened?" he asked, though he knew perfectly well. He’d had them before._ _

__She seemed to sense this. "Would you like me to prescribe something for you?"_ _

__A memory tugged at him. "Jones said you’re a doctor?"_ _

__"Yes."_ _

__"What are you doing stuck on this ship, then?"_ _

__The woman shrugged. "Will asked me to come, and I believe what he and the others are doing is right."_ _

__"And what are you all doing, anyway?"_ _

__She considered for a moment, and he resented that cool, smug choice. But he wanted to know the answer too much to turn away from her saintly charade. "Captain Jones made a decision that probably prevented a war. The Pentagon doesn’t want to admit it allowed the situation in the first place. They’d rather punish him and hide the truth. His presence here is a protest, and our presence supports his protest."_ _

__Jean-Luc closed his eyes. It was all too much for him._ _

__In the end, she gave him some mild tranquilizers that he didn’t take because he wasn’t supposed to drink alcohol if he did. He managed an early dinner instead of lunch, and spent the evening and night asleep._ _

__Remarkably, one by one, days passed. Jean-Luc learned more about Jones’ heroism, but other than that got little from the crew besides unfailing politeness. The only ones who really didn’t seem to care for him were Worf, who didn’t seem to care for anyone, and Riker, who was kept on an obvious leash by Deanna. Jean-Luc himself spoke little, as soon as he realized he didn’t have to talk if he didn’t want to. A couple times he got drunk. He slept and slept and slept. And when he discovered the ship’s gym, he worked out enough to let himself eat three times a day._ _

__

__Jean-Luc?"_ _

__"Yes, Q? Go on. I’m listening."_ _

__"You don’t look like you’re listening."_ _

__"I am hanging on every word. It’s just very pretty here."_ _

__Q looked around them in surprise. He really hadn’t been paying much attention to anything but the road since Picard’s turn behind the wheel had ended. The late November afternoon was chilly as they approached the Nevada border, but the sky was a lovely dark blue, to be sure. There were stunted little yucca trees lining the road, along with little wire fences. Only the occasional car passed them on either side. It was peaceful._ _

__Picard shifted suddenly. "There’s a hotel ahead."_ _

__Q looked at the sign. "Yes, a Day’s Inn. So?"_ _

__"So I’d like to check in."_ _

__"Why? We have miles to go before we sleep, Jean-Luc."_ _

__"An extra night won’t matter."_ _

__Q looked over at Picard curiously. It wasn’t that he minded. He was pretty tired, but…_ _

__"I need to make love with you, Q."_ _

__Q’s eyes fluttered closed, then snapped open to look at the road. The turn-off was two miles distant. He reached out with his right hand and found Jean-Luc’s, bringing his hand first to his lips for a gentle patter of kisses, then, slowly, down to his groin, where Picard could feel how much he needed him as well._ _

__

__They had learned enough about this world to agree casually when the hotel manager suggested a room with two beds. As there was rather obviously no room service, and the restaurant closed at ten, they made themselves buy sandwiches for the room before finally locking out the world and falling into each other’s arms with little sighs._ _

__It felt so damn good to laugh with Jean-Luc, Q thought. How long had it been since he’d actually shared a joke with anyone?_ _

__They shed their clothes like shadows, and sped together into the nearest bed, which made a sort of low protesting sound. The room’s decor was horrible enough to keep them both from wanting to turn on any more lights, and there was a strange, musty smell from the orange-brown carpet._ _

__Q buried his face in Jean-Luc’s neck and breathed in deeply, losing everything in that erotic perfume of sweat and soap. He bit instinctively, gently, at the side of that neck, wanting to consume him, to take him in completely._ _

__"Yes, take whatever part of me you want, Q," Picard groaned, and Q could only assume he’d spoken his thoughts aloud._ _

__"I want all of you."_ _

__"Then take it," Picard groaned, wrapping his legs around Q’s and canting his hips just slightly._ _

__Q forgot for a moment how to breathe. It was not, after all, a truly instinctive action on his part. When he finally gasped out a response, however, it surprised them both._ _

__"Not here."_ _

__Jean-Luc left off kissing Q’s chest. "What?"_ _

__"Not here. Not in this dump."_ _

__"What difference does the room make?"_ _

__"Jean-Luc –"_ _

__"I need you, Q. Don’t you understand? I haven’t let myself feel this way for anyone, ever, in all my life. And for all my life I’ve wanted to. You must know that about me. There’s no ship here, no crew, no Starfleet, no command, and as much as I miss it all we have to make whatever we can of this time. This is our time, Q. I want to be stupid with this, to be drunk with the feel of you. Who gives a cold damn about the room?"_ _

__Q’s eyes were enormous, and his body was shaking as he rolled them over, covering Picard with what warmth he could. His voice as he spoke had a slight wavering low that threatened to break on each vowel sound._ _

__"I’ve wanted this all my life as well, and I knew I wanted it from you since…Shuttlecraft Six, I suppose. I almost touched you that time, in the shuttlecraft. I was so lonely and bored, and you were so exciting, so different, so damn intriguing. I offered you myself, and I would have given you whatever you wanted, then, even then. But love between us wasn’t possible then, and after I showed you the Borg, I knew what was coming – part of it."_ _

__"You saved Humanity."_ _

__"You saved Humanity, Jean-Luc. You and your crew. What is it about you Humans that the fate of your entire species keeps being rescued by a handful of individuals?"_ _

__"The need for campfire tales, I suppose."_ _

__Q smiled, and then shifted his weight slightly, his hot cock brushing Jean-Luc’s, making them both shudder with need. "I’ve needed to be like this with you since I became aware of my existence, Mon Capitaine. I…trained for it."_ _

__Picard’s hand was smoothing over the side of Q’s face even as he frowned slightly. "Trained for it?"_ _

__Q swallowed, dropping his eyes. "I would go someplace safe, when the other Q were occupied, and distance myself from my powers as much as possible. I experienced being cold, being hungry, being foot-sore. I trained myself to sleep as much as a Q can sleep. I tried to learn patience, and to interact with sentient lifeforms without telepathy." Q laughed, and Jean-Luc winced at the bitter sound of it. "Of course, I had no idea I was actually getting ready to be without my powers altogether. I suppose in a way this has all been a happy accident…except…" The waver was forced into a flat, thin line. "Except that I can’t protect you here. I can’t stop you from cutting your finger. I can’t keep a plane from crashing. I can’t cure you if you get ill. I can’t get you out of jail if they arrest us. And if I hurt you…if I lost control…"_ _

__"Did I hurt you, last night?" Years of command experience kept Picard’s voice level. Nothing else._ _

__Q leaned down to kiss him, and lingered, the sweetness of it like oxygen. "No. But you have more practice at restraint than I."_ _

__"I trust you, Q."_ _

__Dark brown eyes closed almost in pain, but Q got them open before he whispered, "I want to get you in a tub and wash you from your smooth head to your tired feet. I want to rub your shoulders and back. I want to hand-feed you strawberries and get you a little drunk on champagne. I want to take my time, get you so ready you can’t see, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel good. I want to be inside you when you’re feeling nothing but joy."_ _

__Picard smiled. "I’m already there."_ _

__But Q only looked back in need, almost miserable, and Picard couldn’t stand it. Reaching up for a deep, desperate kiss, he shifted them both, then ended the kiss and pressed down on Q’s shoulders just slightly, guiding his lover’s mouth down his body. Q responded instantly, eagerly, licking at his chest and whispering Jean-Luc’s name._ _

__Picard almost chuckled. It was no hardship to have Q take him in his mouth, and when teeth nibbled at his nipples, he groaned with unabashed lust and felt luxuriant in decadence. Gently, he put his hands in Q’s hair, not guiding or suggesting, just softly stroking that fine silk, thinking of Q’s sensual mouth as it traveled over his body._ _

__Then he made himself speak, quietly, every word an effort in modulation. "You do take care of me, Q. A great deal of what I am I owe to you, and if I’ve been at all responsible for the changes I’ve seen in you these past weeks, I can only hope they bring you the joy they bring me. Each time you have been patient or endured hardship, and even more, each time you have brought pleasure to this…adventure we’re sharing, I have felt wonder at being with you. I’m feeling wonder and joy now because you’re with me. I think, despite a lifetime of disappointments that tells me not to think it, that I will always feel wonder and joy with you, Q, as long as you love me."_ _

__Q rested a moment, his forehead against Picard’s belly, and the sound of his breathing was loud without being harsh. Jean-Luc stroked his hair again, and then Q moved down, kissing the wet tip of the dark red cock which waved in front of him in rhythm to the beat of Picard’s heart. His tongue snaked out, dragging across the slit, and Jean-Luc muffled his shout into the pillow, his head craned to the side._ _

__Q slid his hands under the smooth buttocks, lifting him up just a bit, then slid down so he could look into the man’s face. With a soft grunt at what he saw there, Q lowered his head, sliding the length of him deep into his mouth, feeling complete, feeling completed._ _

__Jean-Luc endured the lack of further movement as long as he could keep his hips from thrusting forward, but when Q bobbed his head just slightly, the man’s body simply rebelled, and though the thrusts were gentle they could not be stopped. But then Q encouraged them, cupping the warm sac, rolling the testes between his fingertips, dragging his tongue again and again across the slit, drawing him out to his lips, which dappled him with kisses, then took him in deep, caressing him with cheek and throat muscles._ _

__Q released him suddenly, using his hand to stroke up and down, then again taking him deep in his mouth as a slick finger teased his tight opening._ _

__And Jean-Luc came with a desperately muffled howl, shuddering through aftershocks until he lay gasping, unfocused, blind to Q as his lover licked him clean and then rose to lay beside him. Blind, but not oblivious, as he pressed up against that warmth and breathed the smell of him in deep._ _

__Rousing himself with difficulty, lethargic, if not stupefied, Jean-Luc reached for Q…and found him soft. He was about to protest that Q had come without him again, when he realized there was no semen, nothing but perhaps a trace of precum. Q wasn’t excited._ _

__That roused him, and he stared down into Q’s eyes with deep concern. Q, however, only smiled back somewhat sleepily._ _

__"Got too excited, I guess. Like the first time you let me touch you." Q reached up with obvious effort and lightly kissed the man’s lips, then let his head fall back on the pillow with a soft thump. "Perhaps later, hm?"_ _

__Picard watched the dark eyes close, and in a moment Q was sleeping. It was an almost unbearable luxury to curl around that long body and follow him into the safe darkness._ _

__

__Q woke up with his heart pounding and immediately shot up in bed calling Jean-Luc’s name. The lack of response had him rushing into the open bathroom._ _

__Nothing._ _

__The bed had still been warm with the man’s heat, and the smell of him was somewhat soothing – no strange smell of fright, and no signs of a disturbance._ _

___He probably went to get some ice._ _ _

__Q managed to drag on some jeans and a T-shirt and stuff his bare feet into his Nikes before he threw open the door. The motel pool – drained – lay in front of him, fenced-off. On the other side was the two-lane road, and on the other side of that stood a figure silhouetted in the last red rays of the sunset._ _

__Q got his breathing under control before walking across the road. Picard turned and smiled at his approach, but then went back to looking at the extremely flat horizon. Q stood with him a long moment before he realized what had captivated the man._ _

__It was so quiet. This almost-desert had practically no bugs, and the interstate with its traffic was two miles away. No sounds came from the rooms of the motel. There was no another person in sight. The sky was enormous._ _

__Q was startled by his own thoughts. How many skies had he seen in his existence?_ _

__But he was mortal now, and had been for many weeks. It was the same sky, but he wasn’t the same Q. He felt impossibly small, insignificant, and for moment, terrified._ _

__Then a warm hand slid inside his own, and held him, and without other reason he felt safe, protected, kept away from everything he truly feared by the boundaries of this universe. The flat horizon was a path and a border. He could stand here and keep his distance, or approach as he willed. It was a limited, Human freedom, and yet it had an absoluteness he had never known before._ _

__And the last of the sun disappeared, and the sky went from dark blue to black, the stars gathering for the all-night display. Everything grew still._ _

__He became aware of the desire to walk towards that fixed horizon, out into the desert night until he was lost, until there was only the night and the earth and Jean-Luc at his side._ _

__"Would you stay with me?" he whispered. "If I walked out into it all?"_ _

__"Yes."_ _

__They had to kiss then, though briefly. The moment was passing, and they wanted to watch it go._ _

__"Tomorrow," Picard murmured, "we’ll be going through the Painted Desert, and the Petrified Forest. In this world there was no nuclear bombardment of the Air Force bases in Nevada and New Mexico. The land will look as it has for thousands of years._ _

__"We’ll have to stop, at least a little. Perhaps a short hike."_ _

__The moment ended, and the night released them. Jean-Luc turned with a smile, and his eyes glistened in the light from the motel’s lampposts, and from the stars._ _

__"Yes, we’ll have to stop."_ _

__

__They carried their picnic – Q had found a "satisfactory" Indian basket in a roadside souvenir store and filled it in the next large town with things he wouldn’t let Picard see – to the top of the stony hill, finding a nice patch of shade from a cluster of stubby trees. It was cool, but the midday sun warmed the rocks and radiated up through the wool blanket. All about them rose the broken landscape of red-brown mesas._ _

__Picard chuckled when he saw the contents of the basket: caviar, pickled herring in wine, crackers, finger sandwiches, cheese, a small bottle of rose, pears, and stuffed mushrooms still warm in their Styrofoam container._ _

__Picard waited until Q had had a chance to sample everything, then smiled, leaning back against a blanket-covered rock with the half-drunk glass of wine in his hand._ _

__"So, Jean-Luc was feeling better?"_ _

__

__Junior seemed fascinated by Jean-Luc’s head. His large brown eyes would widen as they tracked the smooth, shiny globe, At first, the fashion model found it as easy to ignore as the paparazzi, but after a week aboard the yacht a confrontation was inevitable._ _

__It was lunch, and the captain was eating with Riker, Deanna, and Jean-Luc while his son ignored his chocolate milk to stare at his father’s guest’s head._ _

__Jean-Luc stared back._ _

__"I think you should take it as a compliment," Jones said with a diplomatic smile._ _

__"Yes, he doesn’t usually take to new people so quickly," Deanna put in a bit breathlessly._ _

__"Or so hypnotically," Riker added._ _

__"Hmm," Jean-Luc said at last, throwing a look at the large man. "I suppose he has had to get used to harry people -- sometimes difficult, I understand, for the young."_ _

__The long pause timed the inner debates around the table until Riker’s smile indicated that he was going to take that as a joke._ _

__Junior’s eyes remained fixed._ _

__Jean-Luc sighed slightly and put down the fork he was using to push his creamed spinach from one side of his plate to the other, and then, with the solemnity usually reserved for those about to be coronated, he lowered his head to the young child until a small, slightly wet hand touched his scalp in infant wonder. Another hand joined the first, and several erratic pats signaled the baby’s explorations of this great unknown._ _

__When the hands withdrew, Jean-Luc sat up, and Junior took a sip from his capped milk cup._ _

__Another day passed, and another, and when the supply helicopter came Jean-Luc made no mention of getting a ride back to civilization. He did read over every word of the newspaper, and discovered that Captain Jones’ escapade was national news, even though it warranted only two paragraphs on page twenty-three. A shadow fell across the page just as he was turning to the people section._ _

__No mention of his absence._ _

__"You’re not smoking." Jones’ voice could have made him famous, Jean-Luc thought, if he would only use it better. That tightly controlled tone didn’t suit the nuances and cadences that voice could manage. He stifled his creativity with every orderly word._ _

__What would it be like to hear Jones moan in pleasure? Could that voice say things like "fuck me" or "suck me?"_ _

__Jean-Luc looked down at the unopened carton of Marlboros in the deck chair beside him, then up at Jones’ dark silhouette against the bright blue sky._ _

__"You’re disappointed?" he asked mildly._ _

__Jones shrugged and dropped down into the other chair. The blue-green ocean rippled out before them both, light white caps and deep dark ridges constantly moving against each other, out and out to the far horizon._ _

__"I thought you were greatly in need of a cigarette. You described yourself that way often enough."_ _

__"I use them to help with stress. Guess I’m not feeling all that stressed out right now."_ _

__That pleased Jones, Jean-Luc could tell. While he was deciding whether to be annoyed at that, the captain continued, "It has the same effect on me, always has."_ _

__"What?"_ _

__Jones looked puzzled. "The sea."_ _

__Jean-Luc frowned, thinking, as he looked over the expanse of broken blue._ _

__"No, not the sea. It’s…" He allowed himself the luxury of consideration, weighing his words, enjoying acutely the knowledge that someone was listening to him with the intent to understand him completely. "It’s the isolation. It’s being so far away. It’s the sameness, the sense of not having anywhere to go because the ship is doing it for me. It’s the knowledge that I am…here." He smiled at the horizon, then turned open hazel eyes up to the man. "I suppose it is the sea."_ _

__Jones smiled then, the first real smile Jean-Luc had ever seen on that face._ _

___Oh, my dear captain. Do that again._ _ _

__"You took to the sea as a young man, I suppose?" Jean-Luc asked lightly, his face nothing but composed pleasantries._ _

__"Oh, yes. I was born on the sea." Those full lips, usually set into a strict line, had softened with that smile, and still held the invitation to this slight but genuine intimacy. "My mother wasn’t supposed to be out, of course, but she and my father were celebrating the funding for their hoped-for dig in lower Egypt, and I wasn’t supposed to come along for several more days. Fortunately, my father had taken his duties as medic seriously enough to know what was going on when my mother…exhibited signs of what was happening to her."_ _

__"Shouted a bit, did she?"_ _

__Jones smiled again. "Indeed, though she maintains to this day that her composure remained intact."_ _

__Jean-Luc laughed, almost at the wonder of it. Had it been any other man telling him this story, he would have suspected embellishments, but as it was, he could see the whole thing clearly in his head. "Your parents were archeologists?" he asked._ _

__"Primarily, though my mother came from oil money, and to it she did eventually return. She…she and my wife were very close." The smile was gone, and a sort of silent acceptance or resignation took its place._ _

__"They were happy when you joined the Navy?"_ _

__"My father had served in the war, though in the Air Force. After a few obligatory jokes, he accepted it readily enough."_ _

__"And they support your protest, I suppose?"_ _

__Jean-Luc knew Jones was tempted to deny knowledge of any "protest," but gave nothing away as the captain simply nodded his head. "They were somewhat uncomfortable when my crew made it clear they would be joining me, but I did explain that part of it hadn’t been my idea." Jones looked slightly uncomfortable, and shifted his weight as his tone changed. "And you? Are your parents involved in photography or fashion?"_ _

__Jean-Luc laughed aloud, though he tried to reign in the harshness of it after the first burst of sound. "No," he said after a moment. "My mother died when I was a child, but before that she worked in insurance. My father makes wine."_ _

__"That sounds interesting."_ _

__"And hates queers."_ _

__Jones blinked at him, and Jean-Luc regretted spoiling the mood. He acknowledged as much with a shrug._ _

__"I suppose despite my age I can’t stand the idea of anyone speaking well of him. When I was fourteen he discovered my preferences and tried to get the state to finish raising me. It took me about a year, but I earned enough to file for adultship and I left on my own. I heard later my dad and brother told everyone I had died. When my dad passed himself into the Great Beyond, I got some lawyer up my nose wanting me to sign an agreement that I wouldn’t come after the will money. I pointed out that the estate was in the red and told him to stick it."_ _

__"Just because your looks were all you had at fourteen doesn’t mean you don’t have much more to offer now."_ _

__"Is that your Doctor Riker talking, Captain?"_ _

__"No."_ _

__"Then you’ve noticed on your own the queen’s losing his girlish looks?"_ _

__Jones scowled, but his words were not in the least what Jean-Luc was expecting. "I find it incredible that you seem to have no idea of your own worth, your own…magic of presence."_ _

__"My what?"_ _

__"My son is completely charmed by you, have you noticed that? Everyone on the crew, even my first officer, who suspects your motives, enjoys your company. You have a sort of limitless energy, and when you bother to share your thoughts with others your insight is positively unnerving. Just to speak with you, to learn about you, is frankly provocative." Jones stopped, and Jean-Luc allowed him unlimited silence, his ears nevertheless straining for even one word more._ _

__"I was brooding, you know. Brooding on this ship, brooding over my meals, brooding over the paper. My crew threatened to mutiny if I didn’t go to that ridiculous party. Since you’ve been here, I’ve had something else to think about. It’s done me a world of good. But more than that. You are a legitimately interesting individual, Jean-Luc. I want to know all about how you survived on your own in the life you must have suddenly found yourself thrust into. I want to know how you feel about being famous, about keeping your sanity – or losing it – while everyone around you cares only about how they look or who’s selling what. Do you think your life is empty and shallow, Jean-Luc? I think it’s vicious. I want to know how you’ve survived this long, and why on Earth you don’t realize that having survived your life so far means you could be a success at whatever you tried."_ _

__"You know nothing about me."_ _

__"On the contrary, I know that you’ve been a successful fashion model since you began in the business, that you’re considered dependable and easy to work with, that people recommend you with confidence, and that you’ve shown not the slightest trace of your depression or despair to any of the people you work with. I understand from two people I’ve spoken with that those who saw you talking about killing yourself with me at the party only believed themselves to be witnessing your attempt to seduce me." Jones narrowed his eyes as he focused on Jean-Luc shuttered face. "I cannot imagine the sort of strength it must have taken for you to show no one that level of unhappiness."_ _

__"I never finished high school."_ _

__"Yet you manage your finances well, and have no outstanding debts. You read and speak like a classically trained actor, and you learn whatever life teaches you is important. And that last, by the way, I did get from Deanna."_ _

__"I have no idea what I could even try to do with the rest of my life."_ _

__Jones smiled again, brilliantly. "I know! That’s why you’re here! Jean-Luc, haven’t you seen by now how very selfish I am?"_ _

__"Selfish?"_ _

__"Yes, exactly. We’re in the same boat, you and I. If the Navy won’t accept that I did what needed doing I won’t be able to stay, and then what the hell will I do with myself? This is the only life I’ve ever known. As you stood there in your party clothes and wanted out before the party ended, I saw myself in you. I have to help you, can’t you see? So that you can help me back."_ _

__"You’re out of your mind."_ _

__"Quite possibly."_ _

__"And full of shit."_ _

__Jones stood up, and there was a sort of celebration about the gesture. "Undoubtedly. But please, Jean-Luc, do think about it."_ _

__The captain left him then, and Jean-Luc fought off the impulse to applaud him off-stage. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the pep-talk, it was that he found infuriating the whole notion of Jones’ believing a pep-talk could actually help him._ _

__However, a simple response to Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes had already formed in his mind._ _

__The crew had long since stopped guarding him. They had been told, after all, that he was Jones’ friend, and as he became more obviously self-possessed, they treated him simply as a guest._ _

__Nevertheless, Jean-Luc made sure no one saw him creeping down the hallway at one in the morning._ _

__Jones’ door was not locked, just as he had suspected, and the well-oiled hinges made not a sound as he swung the door slowly open, then shut behind him._ _

__He stood a long moment by the door, just a little shivery in his gray sweats and white T-shirt. The large portholes let in three funnels of moonlight, and the sound of the sea was strong and soothing. Jones’ deep breaths from the bed seemed somehow a counterpoint to each gentle swell of the ocean, and there was a sense of profound slumber and unbreakable peace._ _

__Jean-Luc felt a most unexpected excitement as he approached the bed, and yet there was a growing reluctance there as well. He had known for days that Jones didn’t really understand his own feelings, and yet this was hardly the first time he’d had a man want him without knowing what he wanted. Opening this man’s eyes to the truth wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t doing it for the right reasons._ _

__But to leave without what he had come for simply wasn’t on the evening’s agenda._ _

__Counting on the man’s military training – this wasn’t the first time he’d been in the bedroom of a man in – or rather out – of uniform – Jean-Luc let a bare foot fall a little heavily to the floor._ _

__Jones’ eyes opened and immediately found him in the moonlight._ _

__"Jean-Luc?" The voice was husky, but alert. "What is it? Are you all right?"_ _

__Jean-Luc knelt by the bed, his expression serious, and watched Jones raise up slightly before quickly, smoothly placing his lips over the captain’s, pressing gently, tenderly, not letting himself dwell on the level of affection the action raised in his own body, concentrating on getting it just right: sensual, but undemanding, sexual, but without violation._ _

__Jones’ breath caught in surprise, and a strong hand grabbed his shoulder, pushing away._ _

__But not pushing very hard._ _

__Jean-Luc kept the pressure constant, making no further demands, and the hand stopped pushing him away at all. He opened his lips just a bit, an invitation that was neither accepted nor denied, then let just the tip of his tongue brush those full, gorgeous lips._ _

__Jones gasped and jerked away. Large, almost frightened eyes stared at him in shock._ _

__"It’s all right," Jean-Luc soothed, his voice a deep, rumbling purr barely audible over the gentle whispers of the ocean. "It will be all right." His own hand had found Quentin’s shoulder as they kissed, and now trailed lightly over the man’s chest, covered though it was in light blue cotton pajamas, buttoned almost to the neck. The heartbeat under his fingertips was frantic._ _

__"I think – I think you should leave," Jones managed to whisper._ _

__"Yes, I should think you do," Jean-Luc murmured with a smile. "You think you should do nothing but protect me and help me. The thought of enjoying me, as I want to enjoy you: that would seem wrong to you, I’m sure."_ _

__"You’re in no frame of mind –"_ _

__"It’s your frame of mind that concerns me, Captain." Jean-Luc slipped a hand between the buttons and stroked at smooth skin. Jones shivered, but did not grab his hand, or shift away. It was difficult not to feel smug, but he was smiling as he leaned over the bed and kissed those incredibly sensual lips once more._ _

__But then…Jones kissed him back._ _

__Jean-Luc hadn’t been expecting that, not so soon and not so…well. Jones’ mouth opened slightly, and the sweetness of it was astonishing, overwhelming. Strong arms wrapped around him, pressing him against heat, anchoring him to the bed, the room, this place, this time. Craving more, Jean-Luc slipped his tongue into that warm haven and explored, wanting to know everything he could reach, everything Quentin would allow him to touch. He moaned, and was answered in kind, and now his arms were around the long, strong body and he was moving with unconscious grace from the floor into the bed. Quentin shivered at the feel of him, then tensed as Jean-Luc’s hands went to those tidy buttons over his chest._ _

__"Shhh," Jean-Luc soothed. "It will be all right."_ _

__"Jean-Luc," quietly whispered, was answered only with the sound of cloth being pushed gently aside, and then the whisper of kisses over smooth skin. When one kiss found a pink-brown nipple, Quentin hissed, then moaned. The hand returned to his shoulder as a clamp. "No!"_ _

__The uninvited guest shifted and leaned up, looking down into Jones’ eyes. "No?" The question carried not the slightest inflection._ _

__Jones’ faces was alive with fear. "No. Please. I don’t want this."_ _

__Jean-Luc deliberately shifted his hips, brushing Jones’ stiff cock with his own through the warm material. "Part of you does."_ _

__Quentin grew still, discipline returning somewhat. "It’s just -- This isn’t why I brought you here."_ _

__"I know that. But you do want me." As if absently, Jean-Luc’s hand played lightly over Quentin’s chest. The captain’s free hand caught the fingers tightly. "Is it so wrong to let yourself feel good?"_ _

__Quentin shook his head. "You keep saying that as though there’s nothing more to this. I’m worth more than that. You’re worth more than that!"_ _

__"Save the speech, Captain. I don’t need affirmation right now! I want you, and you want me. I know we’re both on unfamiliar ground here, but you’re the one who talked about helping each other."_ _

__Jones frowned. "’Unfamiliar ground?’ What is that supposed to mean?"_ _

__Jean-Luc grinned. "You mean you’ve done this before." He thrust down gently with his hips and laughed as Quentin went just slightly cross-eyed. "You maniac, you!"_ _

__"You’re the one who’s done this before," Jones hissed. "All too often, I believe. To the point where you’ve forgotten not everyone who takes an interest in you wants to sleep with you!"_ _

__The man lost his grin, but didn’t look angry, only puzzled. "Is that what you think this is?"_ _

__"What else can I think?"_ _

__"You can think I’m here because I’ve been unable to think about anything else but what it would feel like to be here. I’m here because I’ve never wanted someone this way before."_ _

__"You’ll forgive me if I doubt the sincerity of someone who sneaks into my bed in the middle of the night."_ _

__Jean-Luc was quiet for a moment, as though considering something, but Jones saw the glint of rage in those hazel eyes. The powerful, compact body pulled back, and Jones let him go, and then in one second strong hands were over Jones’ cock, caressing him expertly through the cotton cloth._ _

__"Oh!" The choked, shocked sound echoed slightly in the cabin, but the noise wasn’t one of protest. Quentin’s hips thrust up, his whole body seeking that warm contact. During their talk, as Jean-Luc had felt, the man below him had only become more seriously aroused, and a hint of dampness began to seep even through the thick cotton of those pajamas. Fingertips patted at this expression of need, and another hand cupped the soft flesh beneath._ _

__Then with a near-snarl Jean-Luc rose from the bed, his own erection long gone, wondering exactly how it was he walked so willingly into the disasters of his life. He couldn’t even manage selfishness anymore. The door was only a few steps from the bed, and the thick, clean carpet made the journey soundless, and only that allowed him to hear the stifled whisper._ _

__"Don’t go."_ _

__He stopped, looking at the gray-upon-gray of the door set in its frame. He had no desire to leave, no faith in staying._ _

__"I don’t…" Jones’ voice trailed off in a way that was all wrong. Jean-Luc rode out a wave of guilt, then turned around. The captain was sitting in the middle of his bed, his hair a mess, his eyes sparkling wild in the moonlight, and heat rushed to Jean-Luc’s groin, uncaring of the circumstances. To see the man this way was worth it, and yet his feeling of guilt increased._ _

__"I don’t understand what’s happening," Jones said at last._ _

__"Nothing’s happening. I took advantage and I shouldn’t have. I wanted to stay. I wanted to be with you." Jean-Luc shook himself. How could he have lost so much in just days on this ship? Every weapon in his arsenal had been stolen while he concentrated on giving up smoking. "I could tell you wanted me, Quentin, and I’m such a whore I forgot that wouldn’t be enough." His hand fell back to the doorknob. "I’m sorry."_ _

__The hall light was brighter than he had remembered, but he had only taken two steps down the hall when a strong hand on his arm made him oblivious to all but the bright bloom of heat._ _

__"Jean-Luc, wait."_ _

__"Captain?"_ _

__The deep voice surprised them both, and in synch they looked up the hall to the tall, dark form. Those darkly incredulous eyes threatened Jean-Luc down to his bones, his childhood, his soul. Whatever Jones had been about to give him was lost to that gaze, and he knew in that instant he would spend his life hating –_ _

__"As you were, Mr. Worf."_ _

__Worf and Jean-Luc both blinked, frozen, until the tall man nodded, his expression blank, and turned around to walk back into his room, closing the door behind him. Jean-Luc was left staring at that door, turning only when the hand on his arm pulled gently at him, and even then only to stumble along behind Jones’ own tall form back to the bedroom._ _

__Alone with Quentin, Jean-Luc stared at him for moments in silence, then shook his head, slowly, not seeming ready to stop any time soon._ _

__"Jean-Luc?"_ _

__"It’s…impossible that you did that."_ _

__"I find I am somewhat surprised myself," Jones noted dryly. "But I suppose I felt it was unfair that I should be the only one tonight whose world has been turned up-side down."_ _

__"Don’t let your hard-on bother you, Captain. Chalk it up to my experience."_ _

__"No." Now Jones shook his head. "You don’t understand. That hasn’t happened…I haven’t felt this way for so long. You don’t know…" Jones sighed, and his hand raised up suddenly, almost making Jean-Luc start, to smooth along the side of the shorter man’s face and head. "She was ill, for so many years. And it hurt her, overwhelmed her, to be intimate. We loved each other. You must understand. It was enough to be with her. I never even thought to look at other women…or men." Jones’ half-embarrassed smile turned Jean-Luc’s guilt into an ache in his side. "She wanted a child so that I wouldn’t be alone. If I had realized that, I never would have…what it took out of her. I should have known, the way she suddenly wanted to be together that night. And when she told me, she was so proud of herself, to have conceived. I couldn’t tell her I felt that I had murdered her by making love with her."_ _

__"Quentin…God…" Jean-Luc leaned into the caress, wanting to reach out, to gather this man to him, wanting to have the right to comfort him._ _

__"It was odd. Distinctly bizarre, when you came out of that ridiculous cake, I felt…moved…touched…something. And then when I realized you were in trouble, and facing the sort of crisis I could recognize, it was easy to tell myself our connection was…whatever it was I was telling myself."_ _

__"Connection?"_ _

__"You think I Shanghai people every day, Jean-Luc?" Jones’ hand moved again, stroking, exploring lightly, as his eyes glittered. "You’re so beautiful. I can’t believe how beautiful you are."_ _

__Guilt melted. The ache eased into the possibility of warmth. He stepped closer, looking up into those eyes, licking his lips before he whispered, "I could do anything for you you wanted. Do you want to be inside me? Have me suck you?"_ _

__"Jean-Luc…"_ _

__"Even just using my hands I could –"_ _

__"Jean-Luc, listen to me! I’m not hiring you for the night. I want to…make love with you."_ _

__"I can do that too."_ _

__Jones seemed ready to laugh, except that his face was busy looking scared again. Jean-Luc couldn’t help saying again, "It will be all right."_ _

__Jones shook his head, but not to object. "It’s been so long."_ _

__Jean-Luc took the last step between them then reached up to draw down Quentin’s dark head, bringing their lips together in a kiss that again shocked him with its sweetness. It was, really, too great a gift. But he was taking it anyway._ _

__And he thought, then, of what it would be to have this man love him. He had been loved before, even by men who could be cruel. And there had been a woman once who had seemed to revel in the tragedy of loving him. But this, being Quentin Jones’ lover…he did not know if he were capable of loving him back, but he did know he would never give this man up, not willingly, not for anything he had known in his life._ _

__They spent a long time just kissing, Jean-Luc soothing Quentin with caresses up and down his arms and his back. Only when Jones seemed calm did Jean-Luc move them slowly to the bed. Ending another kiss, he efficiently finished stripping the captain, trailing his hands down those long legs, carding his fingers through that dark hair, stroking the scalp, easing him back on the bed before he slipped out of his own shirt and sweats._ _

__He knew with regret that Quentin wasn’t going to last long. The cock in his hand was perfectly sized, a good six inches and nicely thick without being the type that would have him sitting on an icepack later. He was cut without a scar, the pink tip flushing almost red, the balls unshaven, nicely furry._ _

__Jones was looking at him now with a question, and Jean-Luc leaned back with a smoothing smile. Quentin’s touch was light, but not tentative, and it was hard not to chuckle at the man’s surprise at his nearly hairless genitals. He was a bit longer than Quentin, and about the same thickness, but his circumcision had been done the old way, so his scar gave the captain more reason to explore._ _

__Biting his lip to concentrate on the feel of those hands, Jean-Luc nevertheless saw the confusion in Jones’ eyes._ _

__"What?"_ _

__"I never thought of it this way."_ _

__"Thought of what?"_ _

__"Your…cock. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen."_ _

__Jean-Luc groaned slightly, and twitched in Jones’ warm grip. Quentin wasn’t the only one who wasn’t going to last long tonight. Then Quentin stroked him, with some genuine technique, and Jean-Luc looked into his eyes with surprise and pleasure. The man had evidently been taking care of himself long enough to know what to do, and the thought, while enjoyable in one way, made him quite sad in another. He felt, in fact, the oddest sensation in his chest and stomach: warmth, concern, an almost overwhelming desire for Jones to be happy. He had no idea what it meant._ _

__He had thought to blow Quentin’s mind with some sexual display or other, but for once he followed his lover’s lead, and soon they were stroking each other carefully, exploring what gave the other pleasure, looking deeply into the other’s eyes, enjoying being together, enjoying the contemplation of future explorations._ _

__All too soon for both of them, Quentin came, groaning and emptying himself and looking, Jean-Luc thought, unbearably attractive. He would have finished himself off then, but Jones roused himself and stroked those last few necessary times, and Jean-Luc came whispering Quentin’s name._ _

__They washed in the sink, Jean-Luc feeling dopey and indulgent, then curled up in bed together with an ease that disturbed them both before slipping just as easily into sleep._ _

__

__Q’s story done, at least for the moment, his voice grew silent, and they watched the late afternoon paint gold and purple clouds above the mesas for many minutes in a perfect silence uncluttered by the slightest misunderstanding._ _

__At the next gas station, Picard talked with the owner. Resort hotels weren’t exactly plentiful in the center of Arizona, but the man did have a recommendation that took the captain by surprise. When Q returned from the men’s room he had paid for the gas and was standing by the car._ _

__"Problem, Jean-Luc?"_ _

__"I’ve found us a place to stay for the night."_ _

__Q puzzled over his lover’s slightly deepened tone, then smiled at the thought of what they would be doing soon._ _

__"It’s a bit of a drive," Jean-Luc amended. "I’ll do it."_ _

__Q shrugged and tossed Picard the keys._ _

__The directions he’d been given matched the map, and after almost an hour Picard turned off the four-lane road onto a two-lane, then wound his way up around a flat-top hill to discover the resort hotel and spa the gas station’s sister’s friend from New York had stayed in after her chemotherapy last summer._ _

__Q chuckled. "You never stop surprising me, Jean-Luc."_ _

__Checking in was easy. It was off-season, too cold in the high desert for the tourists, but the place was half-full anyway, a prized recuperation and rejuvenation facility for the ailing rich. There were many in wheelchairs, many with canes, as well as the young and nervous, the arty and manic-depressed, the post-op and exhausted. But this was a place of healing, not suffering, and the clean, colorful grandeur of the resort soothed as the efficiency of the staff caressed, and the two alien men felt themselves begin to relax almost the moment their bags were taken._ _

__Q felt that shivery calm from the sunset return, and found he was unconsciously controlling his breathing. Picard eased his muscles just slightly as they stood in the softly rumbling elevator which the bell hop operated by a hand-pulled lever. In his stomach anticipation flickered._ _

__The suite was lovely, with a king-sized bed, sunken whirlpool bath, view of the grounds, large TV and sitting and dressing areas, soft colors, and everywhere clean tidiness neither restrictive nor antiseptic._ _

__"We’ll unpack our own bags," Picard said as he handed a five dollar bill to the bell hop, who nodded, smiled, and wished them a pleasant stay before he left._ _

__They got the bags open, then Jean-Luc went to the phone. After that lunch, neither of them was hungry, but his order of champagne and strawberries made Q’s eyes go slightly wide._ _

__"Jean-Luc?" he asked when the captain had put the phone down._ _

__Picard smiled and walked to Q, then reached up for a long, lingering kiss, warm and loving, before making his way into the bathroom to start filling the tub with hot water. He found some bath oil and put in two capfuls, then located both the lubricant and the Ben-Gay in the first-aid kit and set them on the nightstand._ _

__Q’s dark eyes watched him, but only the filling tub made noise as they unpacked their cases. Neither made a comment about the lack of need to unpack completely because they would only be staying the night. The empty cases were stored on the top shelf of the closet._ _

__A knock on the door was well-timed and welcome, giving Q the distraction he needed to keep from shaking. When the iced champagne was opened, however, and Jean-Luc ate a strawberry before joining him in a silent toast, nothing could stop the faint trembling from taking him completely._ _

__"Don’t be so nervous, Q. Trust your Jean-Luc in both universes. It will be fine."_ _

__Q frowned slightly. "That Jean-Luc is me, telling you what you want to hear."_ _

__Picard shook his head. "They’re each a blend of both of us, as we are a blend of them: one more way for us to be together."_ _

__Q had to set his glass down now, the flute rattling slightly before he could get his hand away, but as he was swallowing in preparation for some witty remark he hadn’t yet composed, Jean-Luc took up his glass, holding one in each hand, and moved back towards the bathroom, juggling things a bit to grab the bottle on the way._ _

__Before he ended up stepping into the hot water fully dressed, Q stayed behind to shed his clothes then hustled into the large, mercifully soft-lit bathroom to watch as Jean-Luc slid from his clothes, folding them neatly over the small chair, then handed Q back his glass, drained his own, and poured himself another, sipping at it with a smile that curled Q’s toes and made his throat dry even after another deep swallow of champagne._ _

__Muscle and sinew pulled and stretched together fluidly as Picard moved into the tub, relaxing into the hot water with a sigh. Q met those expectant hazel eyes a moment, then emptied the bottle into their glasses before sliding into the fragrant bath himself._ _

__"Relax, Q."_ _

__"Are you sure this a good idea? Now?"_ _

__"Oh course I am. Why aren’t you?"_ _

__"I could suck you all night if you let me."_ _

__"I want you inside me, Q, and I thought you wanted it too."_ _

__Q made himself look, taking in the sight of moisture along pale skin, that strong, beautiful face looking at him with love and desire, the green and gold of eyes that wanted to hide nothing. Q made himself look back with eyes equally open, all too aware of the fear they showed, completely unaware of the way love deepened and darkened his gaze while possessive longing etched his every feature into a request Jean-Luc was only too pleased to grant. The man smiled and moved forward, and again they were lost in a kiss that became several kisses, and touches, and warmth shared even as it grew._ _

__Picard broke the kiss gently, breathing in Q’s ear, "I believe next you’re supposed to wash my back."_ _

__Q shuddered, his hands grasping the bulge of Jean-Luc’s biceps, feeling the muscles work under his fingers as the man resisted his movement away. "I don’t know. This might not –"_ _

__"What is it, Q?" Picard leaned back to see his eyes. "What?"_ _

__Q made himself say it: "I want you too much. I’ve dreamed of it too much, and this Human body will like it too much."_ _

__"Q…"_ _

__"I won’t be able to control myself. I’ll hurt you."_ _

__"I don’t care."_ _

__"Yes, you do. When you’re looking at blood, you will. Dr. Crusher isn’t here with her toys to fix you up, you know."_ _

__Picard firmly pushed anger away. No more distractions. "I’m not taking no for an answer, Q. Besides…" He put a finger over Q’s lips. "I’ve been preparing." Q’s eyes went nicely wide once more. "You won’t hurt me. I want you to lose control. Fuck me, Q. Be as much inside me as you can. With luck, I’ll be too sore tomorrow to drive, and we’ll have to stay here another day." He smiled as Q’s trembling rippled the water. It was so quiet here. The peace of the place mingled with the scent of the bath oil and softened the indirect lighting like the glow of a candle._ _

__Q reached for the soap and a washcloth, but Jean-Luc gently took his hands._ _

__"Enough build-up. It’s only making you more nervous. Wash me after you’ve come inside me."_ _

__"Jean-Luc…"_ _

__Picard placed a soft kiss on Q’s sensual, trembling lips, then stood in the tub and turned around, placing his hands on the thick rim. He’d set the bath oil down on that surface, and in the mirror he could see Q’s eyes going to it. Q looked up then, and their eyes met in the mirror._ _

__"The bed…"_ _

__Picard shook his head. "Here. I want to see you take me."_ _

__Q’s groan of surrender echoed against the pale green tile and was followed by the splash of his body’s rising up, the rain of water from the skin of his long torso and thighs as he reached for, achieved, and opened the bottle of oil. Jean-Luc watched in the mirror as Q leaned down, kissing his back, licking at the slightly oily moisture, making him gasp with the hot pleasure of his mouth before he moaned at the slick invasion of fingers inside his body. Picard spread his legs, swirling the water around his knees, and arched his back. Long fingers teased, gently stretching, making him want more so badly he bit his lip to keep from begging. He could see Q’s solemn, slightly dazed expression, and then again their eyes met._ _

__"Hurry, Q." The fingers slid in deeper, and he couldn’t help the demand, "More."_ _

__Q froze at the word, then moaned, sliding his fingers out._ _

__"More, Q. More."_ _

__Q whimpered, and Jean-Luc watched his tall body reposition in the tub. He gripped tightly to the side. God, he wanted this. As he’d wanted nothing before in his life, he wanted this._ _

__The blunt pressure made him gasp, but to his relief Q wasn’t distracted. Being filled was different from the pressure of those fingers, or the pressure of his own as he’d made himself ready for this moment. And there was heat inside him, the burn of accommodating that large cock._ _

__Q’s cock. Inside him._ _

__He forced his eyes to stay open so he could see Q’s hands move on his hips, gripping him. The play of light on their skin only translated to a glow in Jean-Luc’s lust-fogged brain, and it seemed to him that their love and passion had transmuted into the most ancient poetic cliché. The pressure stopped increasing, and Picard knew Q was all the way in._ _

__"I love you, Q. More."_ _

__Q groaned to drown out those dangerous words. How could Jean-Luc know so exactly what he wanted? How could anything mortal feel so good? How could he keep from fucking this man – this absolutely extraordinary man -- in his hot, tight ass until he passed out? He couldn’t look in the mirror, couldn’t think too much about what he was doing, couldn’t –_ _

__"More, Q. Please. More of you."_ _

__Q’s groan was basically a scream, and his Human body simply took over. It felt so good, so impossibly good; he needed to do this as a drowning man needed to breathe, and he was lost in it as a drowning man became lost in the rapture._ _

__He looked into the mirror. Jean-Luc Picard was bent over, hanging onto the tub, his arms tight, each hard line suffused in soft light, his legs spread, his back curved, his whole body rocking back with each strong thrust of Q’s body._ _

__And for a moment, despite the insanity his body’s need demanded, Q froze, his dark eyes enormous. Jean-Luc’s eyes stared back, and for that moment, as an echo, the strong features betrayed the slightest, but deepest, fear._ _

__"You are so…" Q shook his head, his left hand smoothing over the bowed back. He had no idea from where the strength for his own voice came. "You are beauty, Jean-Luc, all that is light and line."_ _

__The fear in hazel eyes glinted. "Somewhat…faded."_ _

__Q looked as baffled as a child. "You…glow. Time only adds…every day…" But he was losing the moment, and the body around his cock was trembling, and the heat of being here burned away the words he wanted to paint around this vision. He groaned, the low, desperate noise his last eloquence before he began to move once again._ _

__He thought about what he was doing. He concentrated on the heat, on the clamped ring of muscle around his cock, on the glowing body that had allowed him inside, on the mind and soul of the man whom he had been allowed to love, and who loved him back._ _

__He let everything go, just as he had feared, but instead of destruction there was only acceptance, and a need as great as his own. He tore down no walls, but was pulled in deeper and farther. He broke nothing, nor was himself broken. There was only this simple act of joining, primitive, sanctified._ _

__He came, and it was just more of everything good and bright. He did not fall, he was taken in, possessed absolutely, sinking against a slick back, held up by Picard’s locked arms while his hand dripped with the man’s semen and his own cock spent the last of himself inside that hot, tight haven._ _

__Jean-Luc kept them both up, his head lowered, his eyes closed. He wished he could speak, that his brain could form the words to tell Q that finally, finally, the part of himself inside that had never been touched had not only been reached, but thoroughly enveloped. For the first time in his life, in this secret place, even as his body protested its increasingly awkward position and the water and sweat on his skin grew slightly cold, Jean-Luc experienced a new and profound flavor of satisfaction, contentment and peace. The man born to explore wanted nothing more than to keep in this place and this moment forever._ _

__When Q slipped from inside him, he sighed, and smiled, and helped Q get them clean, and then stumbled with him to the bed, answering Q’s somewhat disjointed words of love, sliding back into Q’s arms, even as Q slid into a deep sleep that held them as one until morning._ _

__

__Q’s eyes were looking into his face as he awoke._ _

__"I was an idiot."_ _

__Jean-Luc smiled. "We sometimes have that effect on each other."_ _

__"How sore are you?"_ _

__Picard let his smile turn sly. "Not enough."_ _

__Only a few minutes later Q was sliding inside him, and this time it was as gentle as the last time had been wild…as the next time was wild, as Picard took Q hard, pushing them both over the edge with a roar._ _

__They ate on the balcony, a huge breakfast with pancakes, crepes, fruit, juice, milk, coffee, bacon, eggs, and two very large Bloody Marys._ _

__Q drained his drink and cleaned his plate before he was ready to say the rest of it._ _

__"Jean-Luc, the problem with their primary relay matrix –"_ _

__"…lies in the intermix ratio. We can fix it with a simple retuning of the pre-ignition sequence."_ _

__Q blinked, then realized he wasn’t willing to be out-done. "We can slap it together in a week and make it to fit in a briefcase."_ _

__"Doubtlessly."_ _

__They looked over the well-watered lawn, framed by the high desert beyond, and then the stepping-stone rim of the world._ _

__"We might not have a week once we get back to New Orleans."_ _

__"Yes, we should put it together someplace else, then get back into the warehouse at night, hook up the transmitter, and set the explosives for a minute after we beam out."_ _

__Q nodded. Neither of them had turned from the view._ _

__"Or we could just stay here forever."_ _

__Q shrugged. "They’d find us. Besides, they’re headed for an even worse nuclear holocaust than your Earth had."_ _

__Picard didn’t bother to ask if Q were sure of that. Had they known even that first night that staying here was impossible? "It might help, though, if Steward and Lancet could figure out their problems with cold fusion. Most of the political bickering is over fuel sources."_ _

__"They’re too close to the temperature thing, and they’ll never get through the troubles they’re having with the molecular breakdown of the catalyst. Rumors of their work will help the other side drop the bombs sooner, though."_ _

__The captain nodded. "We might yet find someplace safe."_ _

__"Jean-Luc, are you still afraid?"_ _

__He turned from the view at last, meeting Q’s eyes. "What?"_ _

__"I’m not afraid anymore. I know it won’t matter what they do. You love me."_ _

__Jean-Luc smiled. "Yes, I do. And you me."_ _

__Q nodded. "It will be a pain to deal with them, the Continuum, your crew, the universe in general, but just a pain. They can’t hurt us, can’t separate us, can’t take away what we’ve made together." The full lips twisted. "Besides, we don’t belong here anymore than the Q who came to visit me belonged in our universe."_ _

__Picard chuckled. "It’s really that you just don’t want to see me die." Q showed his surprise, and Jean-Luc shrugged. "I don’t want to see you die either, Q."_ _

__"We could make the unit here."_ _

__"Here?"_ _

__"Well, not here in the hotel. We could get a nice-sized RV, gut it, and drive to Albuquerque for the things we need -- after I order it, of course."_ _

__"Of course."_ _

__"Which means I have to get on the phone."_ _

__"Hmm." It really would only take a few days. Jean-Luc could not keep the regret from his eyes._ _

__Q nodded, then slid from his chair to the floor, not stopping his fluid movements until Jean-Luc’s cock was deep in his mouth._ _

__"Mmmmmmmm."_ _

__When Jean-Luc or Q would look back on the following sixteen days -- days spent in working almost every moment, touching each other when they could not kiss, kissing each other when they could not make love, making love quickly when they wanted nothing more than to revel in each moment of being together – the weeks would feel to both of them like a sort of mental scrapbook. They resented their work, but performed it almost frantically. Being arrested and questioned by the government would separate them, and one medical exam on Picard would mean intolerable exposure. They went almost without sleep, eating whenever they could, drinking too much coffee, living strictly by the unspoken agreement never to be out of sight of each other except for matters of basic privacy, and sometimes not even then._ _

__But they were Human…or near enough, and during those days there were moments that did not answer to a work schedule. They both knew enough to understand that what they felt demanded and deserved its own emergencies, and if they sometimes lingered slightly beyond basic needs, they forgave themselves and worked the harder for it afterwards._ _

__There was that late morning, when they consecrated their new workspace in the RV by kissing until lunch, teasing themselves by not taking off their clothes, just kissing, lost in it. Apart from Q’s lips, Jean-Luc would remember the smell of the new carpet. Apart from Jean-Luc’s body, Q’s strongest impression was of the low ceiling, and the way his hair brushed the covered cord of the ceiling’s light fixture._ _

__There was the time they both woke up hungry after midnight and ordered steaks and red wine and fed each other, and Jean-Luc’s shoulders hurt, and Q rubbed him down before taking him. Q knew until eternity ended he would recall in sharp detail that perfect, compact body lowering down over his twitching cock, the light from the candles they’d bought shining on his smooth, rippling back._ _

__There were the few times that the work they did was routine enough that Q could tell more about Jean-Luc and Captain Jones, about the way they got married and helped put an end to the final prejudice against gays in the military, about how Jones’ protest ended with a promotion for him and his crew that eventually landed him a rear admiralty. He told of how they learned to make love together, Jones discovering how to pleasure a man, and Jean-Luc discovering the difference between sex and lovemaking._ _

__There was the time they took a shower together to save time, and Q dropped to his knees and drank Picard in with the water._ _

__There were the two times they treated themselves to hot baths and massages at the pump room, the three times they had quick drinks on the balcony, the night they spent watching black and white movies on TV and sucked each other off during the commercials, the morning they made love on the floor while the sun came up, the afternoon they came back from their drive to Albuquerque and had to pull over for a quickie in the bushes._ _

__Each moment now was held in a breathless suspension of memory as they packed up their gear and erased the computers’ hard drives. Inside a small metal suitcase under the bed nestled a fully functional cold fusion generator. They had only to connect it to the transmitter in New Orleans, and they would be able to signal the Enterprise – or any other ship on or near a Federation frequency – to be beamed home._ _

__The last night, neither of them slept more than a few minutes at a time. They meant to sleep; they had a full day ahead of them tomorrow, driving back probably as far as west Texas before safety would demand the gift of one more night._ _

__"It’s pathetic, really," Q mumbled, looking through the window at the dawn-lightened sky._ _

__"What is?"_ _

__"Us. Me. After all I’ve been through, all the power that is Q, and I can’t even stop the sun from coming up."_ _

__Picard rejected a dozen arguments even as they jostled for attention. This wasn’t the place for justice, or logic._ _

__"We’ll be together, Q. In the end, that’s all that matters." He brought up a lazy – as lazy as he could make it, anyway – hand and played with Q’s right nipple. His face lay pressed against the entity’s warm chest, a heartbeat pounding at his ear. "More than anything else, I think I will simply miss this place."_ _

__Q chuckled, and Picard relaxed. There were still so many things to learn about his lover – his mate -- that he hadn’t been certain of the correct approach._ _

__A thrilling thought, someday to feel secure about Q’s responses, if such a thing were possible. He longed to find out._ _

__"It has been surprisingly forgiving," Q mumbled. Picard felt a warm hand caress his back. "Sometimes I’ve wondered if we could fuck on the balcony without drawing attention."_ _

__"As long as we were quiet about it, I doubt anyone would care."_ _

__"Have you seen that extraordinary woman in the big-wheeled wheelchair?"_ _

__"The one with the red hair?"_ _

__"Red wig, yes."_ _

__Picard pinched Q’s nipple sharply. "She’s got to be eighty at least, Q."_ _

__Q pinched Jean-Luc’s buttock. "I saw her playing one of those little Star Wars hand-games yesterday, and when I walked by her she starting cussing out the Empire. When I laughed, she invited me up to her room for a drink."_ _

__Picard laughed, then said in mock-severity, "Don’t be getting any ideas, Q. You’re mine."_ _

__Q shivered. "Yes, I am." A minute passed as they simply remained where they were. "And you’re mine."_ _

__"Yes, I am." Jean-Luc moved forward and captured that puckered nipple in his mouth, shivering as Q’s hands moved to cup his butt and push his stirring arousal against Q’s own. He moved again, drowning a while in an exquisite kiss, when a finger slid suddenly inside him. He groaned agreement and would have rolled over onto his back, when suddenly Q ended the kiss and was looking at him with the expression Picard had learned meant he wanted something in particular. Jean-Luc smiled. Granting Q’s requests in bed was always the best sex he’d ever had._ _

__And so he said simply, "Yes, Q."_ _

__But Q bit his lip and looked worried. "You should really hear this one out first."_ _

__Picard raised his eyebrows, then closed his eyes and moaned in bliss as Q moved his finger gently inside him. "Tell me, please."_ _

__"You used to do this," Q whispered, and Picard felt that long body trembling slightly. "To yourself."_ _

__Picard frowned, puzzled, and looked into Q’s anxious eyes. "Yes, in the shower." He smiled. "Preparing for you."_ _

__Q’s trembling grew. "Would you…show me?"_ _

__Jean-Luc’s eyes widened. He would say yes, of course, but first…he had to adjust to this. They had already masturbated in front of the other, together and separately, but this…_ _

__"If you don’t want –" Q’s quick words were cut off when Picard placed two fingers over his lips. Q was shivering now, and hard against the man’s thigh. Jean-Luc steadied himself with a sigh, then pressed his fingertips between Q’s lips. Q sucked the fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them, even as he turned them both over._ _

__Jean-Luc ended up on his back, near the edge of the bed, with his legs drawn back. Q slithered off him and stood up, helping to hold the man’s legs up, whispering his lover’s name after Jean-Luc withdrew his fingers. If Picard weren’t still hard, Q would have called the whole thing off, but as it was, those hazel eyes were burning him, and all hesitation seemed to have been lost._ _

__"I would think about your being inside me, Q, about how you seemed so worried about the idea, about how much I wanted you, and then I would wait until the shower had relaxed me, and then…" Picard moved his wet fingers down his body, not touching, but skimming that smooth, pale skin, until he had reached the dark star of puckered flesh which contracted just slightly as those fingers approached. It occurred to Q that he might come simply from watching. When Picard spoke again, the entity was startled. "For you, I wanted to make sure nothing hurt, so I was gentle." A single finger caressed the rim, then patted it, then slowly slid inside._ _

__Q moaned, unable to see anything else but that finger sliding in and out, stretching the walls of the man’s channel with tiny circles. His cock leaked, dripping to the floor, and he didn’t notice._ _

__Picard noticed. He was so glad he had agreed to this. It was incredible to be gazed at like this. Eagerly, he slipped another finger inside himself, smiling at the pressure, and decided to elaborate, just slightly. After all, he said nothing but the truth._ _

__"At first, it would feel a little odd, so I would think of you, imagining that my fingers were yours, that you were preparing to take me, that you were thinking of how hot I’d be, how tight, that you’d be impatient, but gentle, that you’d want me to fit you exactly, that you’d be unable to think of anything else." He stilled his fingers, and Q’s eyes flew to his face. Picard almost couldn’t speak past the constriction in his throat. "And when finally you were inside me you were all these things, Q, all these and more." Almost roughly, Jean-Luc thrust three fingers inside himself, unable to hold back a long, low moan._ _

__Something in Q seemed to collapse. His eyes, his whole face had softened into a look of tenderness Picard almost couldn’t bear. His voice had not even the force of a whisper, and his hands on Jean-Luc’s legs were so soft, as though he were opening the wings of a butterfly._ _

__"This is love: two minds willing to give whatever that love requests, and made stronger and better for it. I did not know, Jean-Luc. All my centuries of existence, and I had no idea. I was ashamed of how I felt for you, those first few years of knowing you – embarrassed that I could want to give you myself. I thought it cheapened me that my soul could be had by some mortal who didn’t even approve of me. I needed your respect only so I could feel valuable again. And now I must give you more – have already given you all of myself, and will again and again, for eternity – and I am priceless, and yet to myself I am nothing next to you. There is not an atom of your body I do not adore, not a thought in your mind I do not long to know, not a possibility of your existence of which I would not wish to be told in every detail. You are everything to me." Guiding himself with his hand, he slowly pushed inside Picard’s body, and then rested, absorbing the reality of his position in the universe._ _

__Jean-Luc didn’t try to speak, and his arms could only stretch enough to allow his hands to stroke Q’s stomach and caress his hips. His eyes, filled with tears, showed him a Q outlined in glittering prisms, and he found himself laughing, regaining his voice just slightly as he began, profoundly, to relax._ _

__"You’re all covered in rainbows, Q."_ _

__Q began a slow rhythm of thrusting. "You’re crying, that’s all."_ _

__"No, it’s you. Everything is you."_ _

__Q shook his head. "Another Human mystery."_ _

__"What…is?"_ _

__Q increased his pace, letting his body take over once again. "The way I can understand…complete nonsense when…I’m buried inside you."_ _

__"Not nonsense, Q. You…are rainbows, and roses, and sunrises, and every…damn cliché in the…oh…oh yes…more. More of you, Q."_ _

__Q groaned, and his whole body was pistoning into Picard’s body now, wildly, and yet even now with caution, with love. "You know I can’t bear it when you say that."_ _

__"More…harder…deeper inside me. More of you…inside me."_ _

__Q screamed, and there was just this motion, this heat, this tight body, this primal joy, pure and scalding and sweet. He felt the end coming and tried to slow down. If he’d had his powers he would have used them, perhaps remaining in this time and place until the temporal corridor buckled under the stress, but Human self-control was swamped with desire and urgent need, and with a final thrust he came deep inside this beloved other half of himself, trying to move his hand on Picard’s cock to get him to come as well, but losing himself, losing time, almost tumbling to the floor, spent and weak._ _

__Jean-Luc caught Q’s body, and knew he could come when his body filled with Q’s hot seed, offering him the choice of white pleasure. To his surprise, he turned it aside even as he rolled Q onto his stomach. As Q slipped from inside him, Jean-Luc gathered the slick cum on his hand, then quickly stretched Q’s opening before he plunged inside that impossible heat and strength. Q moaned softly, still in a stupor, and Jean-Luc ran soothing touches over the sweat-slick back even as he began to move deeper inside. Q’s hands fluttered, then stilled, and Jean-Luc lost the final check on his rhythm, thrusting hard, almost frantically, trying to enjoy this connection with Q as much as he could before his body betrayed him. The pleasure was rising up now, an energy surge that seemed capable of vaporizing him._ _

__He wanted to speak. Hell, he wanted to compose a sonnet, or better yet, some Ginsberg-like free verse that could somehow begin to describe this, contain this, harness this. But the desire was fleeting, lost in the heat and light even as he spilled out all that he was inside Q’s body._ _

__

__They slept after all, and woke to a bright day, perfect for traveling._ _

__But neither of them noticed the weather._ _

__Silently, they rose from the bed and made their way to the small table on which sat Q’s laptop. A small flashing logo on the screen indicated that their New Orleans’ residence had been compromised._ _

__Q tapped a few commands into the computer. "The system kept them out."_ _

__Picard kept himself from asking if Q were certain. "What time?"_ _

__"Five AM." _Tap tap tap._ "I’ve got two different points of attempted entry, but no broken glass, nothing on the motion sensors inside." _ _

__Jean-Luc put his hand on Q’s shoulder. "We’ll have to approach with the assumption that our warehouse is under surveillance."_ _

__"Yes, we’ll –" Q jerked, then ran to the wall outlet and unplugged the computer’s phone jack. The connection terminated with a click, and Q stepped back to the computer to enter several commands before he relaxed. Picard simply waited until Q explained, "Someone was trying to trace my connection."_ _

__"How close did they get?"_ _

___Tap tap tap._ "Vancouver. Only three re-routes from us." _ _

__"Is there any chance they could know where we are?"_ _

__"I don’t see how." Q’s worried eyes found his. They had even thrown their second set of credit cards and IDs into the hotel incinerator last night, and were now going to travel as John Thompson and Patrick White._ _

__"Nor do I."_ _

__They nodded, then got dressed in an efficient six minutes before taking their own bags to the car. Q paid for another week in cash, while Picard got them some breakfast for the road. Then they were back on their way._ _

__In the next city, they ditched their car and purchased another in cash with their latest IDs, ate lunch, and then were back on the road._ _

__"We went as fast as we could," Jean-Luc said when they reached the northeast Texas boarder and changed drivers._ _

__Q settled into the passenger seat. "Yes, we did." In truth, his Human memory had betrayed him, and it seemed that those weeks spent building the fusion generator were all just one long day of work, with a few moments of touching Jean-Luc scattered through. "Go a hundred miles," he said, "and then let’s stop and kiss for a while."_ _

__Would his body always respond like this, Jean-Luc wondered? His nipples hardened slightly under his cambric shirt, and he felt a breath of warmth in his groin that whispered down his legs and up his chest. He met Q’s eyes a moment before pulling out of the rest stop._ _

__"All right."_ _

__They drove through the rest of the day and about half of the night that way: a hundred miles, then a stop for food and kisses, or gas and kisses, or just a stretch of their legs and kisses. They sometimes grew passionate, but stayed away from anything too heavy, not wanting to confront the oppressiveness of it by risking too much pressure, too much of what they both wanted so fiercely._ _

__Well after midnight, they stopped at a Day’s Inn and slept for five hours. The second Picard was in the bed, Q kissed his way down his body and drank him in, needing it, savoring it, then assuring his lover it was all right to sleep. He’d come with the taste of Jean-Luc’s semen on his tongue._ _

__"Q…"_ _

__"Shhhh."_ _

__And the captain fell asleep. Q held him against his stomach, exhausted as he had never been, as he hoped fervently he would never be again…unless it were for another night here in this world. He placed Jean-Luc’s hand on his softened cock and thought of the man inside him that morning, taking him when he could do nothing but lay there and know Picard was enjoying this body he’d made to be Human. It was, in more ways than Q could explain, truly his body, and yet it had never been as real as it was right now, in this world…this world that was neither his nor Jean-Luc’s, but Steward and Lancet’s. For a moment he felt a sharp envy for those versions of himself and his lover, but he could push that easily away. WW III was coming to this place as surely as people needed gas for their cars. He and Picard would be pestered and censured and despised in their own world, but at least they would be safe from physical harm. Never again would he have to watch blood well from Picard’s body and have nothing more to offer than a Band-Aid._ _

__And yet it was difficult to sleep, to lose to unconsciousness this last chance to be here, to be nothing more than two lovers sharing warmth and a bed._ _

__Not long after dawn, they tracked down a decent breakfast, then got back on the road and made it to New Orleans just before midday. Their back-up residence was located on Louisiana Street, a wide avenue busy with tourist and uptown traffic. Q had bought it all with money that could never be traced to any of their IDs and had it furnished by a company who thought the house was going to be used by Japanese business travelers._ _

__They emptied out the car with three trips apiece, and Picard treated himself to a long shower while Q set up the computers, then arranged a thoroughly gnarled series of connections to access their warehouse systems. When his lover immerged from the bathroom with the cordless phone in his hand, asking what Q wanted on his pizza, the entity reported in some relief that their security had yet to be breached. In fact, no one had made another attempt to gain entry._ _

__"So surveillance is a certainty," Picard noted._ _

__"I’ve checked the bus routes."_ _

__"I’ll get the camera, and we should both look like tourists."_ _

__They waited until after lunch, running a thorough check of the generator and making sure their affairs were in order, leaving nothing unexplained when they left that night._ _

__They caught the Tchoupitoulas bus at the end of Louisiana, then rode it past their warehouse three times, taking pictures with their digital cameras and spotting each time the dark car with tinted windows parked across the street._ _

__They noted the plates, and once back at the house Picard tracked them back – via a phony local address – to the US government. Q ran through the pictures they’d taken on the PC and found a second car worth suspicion, but it proved to be a rental to a Mr. and Mrs. Tourist. He filed away the plate number and continued to pour over the pictures._ _

__They exchanged notes over an early dinner, and agreed to come through the adjacent warehouse on the north side, then enter their warehouse by the back entrance._ _

__"It’s fortunate that contemporary fashion favors so much black," Picard noted. They were both in black jeans, while Q sported a black T-shirt with a bright logo he would turn skin-side when they got to the warehouse and Jean-Luc sported a black-blue striped Polo. It was almost Christmas, but the Louisiana nights were still quite warm, if not muggy._ _

__"I can’t decide if we look Goth or like some sort of "after" ad for Sugar-Busters," Q replied, smiling when Picard laughed. It was…pleasant to think that after this little adventure he and Picard would have so many referents the Enterprise crew wouldn’t understand and the Continuum wouldn’t care about._ _

__Q had debated hard with himself about whether to warn Jean-Luc more completely of the obstacles they would be facing. Only the knowledge that the captain was doubtlessly keeping some of his own darkest concerns to himself as well kept Q from feeling guilty over the fears he did not share._ _

___It’s only because I’m a Q that I feel deserving of time and space to love him properly,_ Q thought, not believing a word of it. _Others in the galaxy know better than to expect anything more than a couple weeks’ honeymoon, and I suppose we’ve had that, haven’t we, Mon Capitaine?__ _

__They drove within a half-mile of the warehouse, then abandoned the vehicle near the lane up to the ferry, carrying only the briefcase and whatever they’d kept in their pockets. Online, their holdings would remain in their estate for fifty years, with slow disbursements to selected charities, until the final allotment would go in toto to the March of Dimes. As Q doubted this world would last another fifty years – or rather, that the Humans on it would last that long – this arrangement was really an expression of Human futility, but Jean-Luc had liked it, and as far as Q was concerned, half a billion US was a small price to pay for being sucked off by the man of his dreams._ _

__As they approached the warehouse, Q allowed himself to feel angry that they would not have time even to lay eyes on the bed in which he had spent so many nights dreaming the existence he was now allowed to know. It was ridiculous, really, the attachment he’d developed to a collection of wood, plastic, fiber and linen. At least he had learned enough to realize he couldn’t just whip up its double in their own reality and expect it to be the same._ _

__In fact, Q was acutely aware that this time together with Picard in this universe was nothing less than what Humans sometimes called a "Godsend." Without it, he supposed he and Jean-Luc would still be circling around each other, and he personally would be moping and counting the years until the captain retired._ _

__And so, as they stood near the gate, checking the surrounding area carefully, Q murmured in the dark space between street lights, "We’ll always have New Orleans."_ _

__A warm, dry hand clasped his, then released it. "Q, why did you study this city in the 20th Century?"_ _

__"Watergate."_ _

__"What?"_ _

__"One of your world’s most interesting times, Jean-Luc."_ _

__"But what has Watergate to do with New Orleans?"_ _

__Q peered at a car parked nearby. No one was behind the wheel. "I shouldn’t really tell you that."_ _

__Picard stared at him, then shook his head and focused on the fence. As soon as he and Q punched in the code for the gate, they had to assume they’d raise the alarm. Their advantage lay in the simple fact that whoever was watching them – if they were being watched, and the place hadn’t simply been approached by a burglar – couldn't know that they weren’t going to be coming out again. The generator and transmitter would be beamed out with them, and any authorities entering after them would find nothing but their tools and living quarters, until the bomb went off, of course._ _

__Q’s bed – a pity they couldn’t stop for a nap…or anything else._ _

__Shaking himself just slightly, Jean-Luc nodded at Q, who darted to the gate. They were through in ten seconds, slamming it shut and scrambling the combination before anyone watching could have gotten near them. From there they opened the side door, then moved smoothly inside the warehouse. The transmitter was just where they had left it, a thin film of dust betraying their less-than-perfect insulation. They knelt beside it, and Q opened the briefcase to key the generator even as Jean-Luc opened the access port._ _

__And found nothing._ _

__As one, they froze. Then together they threw off the entire casing, revealing, again, nothing._ _

__Their eyes met, panic slamming into fear._ _

__"They must have made it in," Picard whispered, "and bypassed our alarms."_ _

__"But the code isn’t breakable in this time, not without knowing the root password, and that has to be entered correctly the very first --"_ _

__"Alien interference? Temporal incursion?"_ _

__"A giant stork with a cigar, Jean-Luc. We have to get out of here."_ _

__They scrambled up, and the room flooded with hard, white light._ _

__"Keep your hands where we can see them!"_ _

__Q managed to snap the briefcase shut a second before it was snatched from his hands. Picard managed to key the detonation sequence before he was thrown to the ground. Q shouted, then was shoved down to join him. The keypad was grabbed from Jean-Luc somewhat loosened grip._ _

__"Bomb!"_ _

__Flashes of light, shouting, hands grabbing them, everyone moving around them, commands being issued, then there were two black limousines and strong hands holding his writs. He grabbed back, defying them to separate him and Q. A brief struggle, someone shouting about how they had no time, then both of them shoved into the second car. He tried to gain the seat properly, fighting the weight against his back that was Q being shoved in after him. Then tires squealed, and they were moving._ _

__A gun was in his face._ _

__"Sit."_ _

__He and Q sat, and looked into the hostile expression worn by a somewhat familiar face._ _

__"Lieutenant," Picard said levelly._ _

__Lt. Fred Halkins nodded slowly._ _

__"What is all this about?" Q asked, his tone perfect._ _

__Halkins didn’t respond._ _

__There was a short, distant _boom_. Picard and Q knew their warehouse was now a pile debris, though the buildings on both sides would be unmarred. _ _

__Deep within both of them, almost unacknowledged, they mourned the place that had held them safe in this world, a deep blue expanse of soft star-like dots and Q’s gadget-filled kitchen._ _

__The limo got on the I-10, and didn’t stop until they got to Kenner, then drove to some rather hideous suburb – it occurred to Jean-Luc that Q was beginning to rub off on him – where both cars stopped. Halkins kept his gun on them without speaking again, but they weren’t handcuffed. To Picard’s surprise, their briefcase was placed in the car, and they got a second guard in the front seat, before they began driving again._ _

__Picard considered ignoring them all and turning to Q to reassure him that none of this was his fault, but couldn’t overcome his own revulsion to revealing his feelings to their jailers._ _

___Don’t, Q. Don’t think this is your fault. They know things they shouldn’t know, and have done things they shouldn’t have been able to do. Can Humans read minds in this world? Have we miscalculated from the beginning? You did so much, here, Q. You have kept me safe. And we will find a way through this even as things are. These people, the Continuum, my crew…we are one person now, Q. They won’t succeed against us._ _ _

__He saw Q’s head turn to him, and in those dark brown eyes Picard saw all that he thought reflected back, acknowledged, confirmed. He smiled, and meant it, and Q, though somewhat faintly, smiled back._ _

__"It’s coming up," the driver gruffly announced. Halkins somehow grew even more alert._ _

__Picard and Q frowned. They were passing by a shopping mall. Was there some sort of hidden military site here? Surreptitiously, they peered through the windows, and saw nothing but traffic and a Macy's._ _

__The car ahead of them turned, but their own limousine was caught behind a semi. The driver maneuvered, then suddenly craned the long car around in a U-turn. Another black limo darted around the truck, and then was smoothly following the first car._ _

__"Don’t floor it," the guard in the front seat warned the driver, who muttered something in reply._ _

__"My God," Picard breathed._ _

__Q laughed._ _

__Dr. Lancet turned around with a frown for both of them. "This is nothing to laugh at."_ _

__"I beg to differ," Q replied._ _

__"When it comes out, what we’ve done –"_ _

__"And why are you doing this, if I may ask?" Picard inquired._ _

__Lancet groaned and turned back around in her seat, facing front. "Because we’re insane. Now sit there and be quiet until we’re there."_ _

__"Could Freddie at least put away the gun?" Q inquired._ _

__The lieutenant scowled, but holstered the firearm._ _

__They drove deep into the asphalt heart of Kenner, barely stopping for lights until they arrived at a beige and white complex of housing units that would be available for occupancy in the year 2000. Dr. Steward pulled around behind a flatbed, killed the motor, and then opened her door. The rest of them left the car, then walked up a flight of metal steps to door #42. Steward produced a key before ushering them inside a carpeted but unpainted room._ _

__Wrapped in plastic, the transmitter sat in the middle of the floor._ _

__Lancet held up the briefcase._ _

__"I take it you were planning to plug this into that?"_ _

__Q and Picard said nothing._ _

__"Whom are you attempting to contact?"_ _

__Hazel and brown eyes had lost all expression. Halkins peered out a window._ _

__"We’re trying to help you damnit! But we need more information." Steward looked at Lancet, then back at the two men. "You don’t even know, do you? You think you’re going to brazen this out with more stories about being gay Santas?"_ _

__Q raised an eyebrow slightly, then found himself captured by the woman’s eyes. They were so much like the ones he wanted to spend eternity gazing into._ _

__"Think about it, Q," Lancet said, enjoying the slight response the "name" got. She thought of how Jean-Luc had moaned that name in the bathroom, the same way her Connie moaned her name when she slipped her tongue inside the soft warmth of her. She snorted just a little in self-exasperation. Somehow, despite the insanity of it, the impossibility of it, she and Con should have realized earlier._ _

__Halkins stiffened at the window, half-reaching for his gun, then paused, then relaxed slightly._ _

__"Think about what, Dr. Lancet?" Jean-Luc asked, his eyes turning from the man at the window._ _

__But Connie was the one who stood forward, and reached out her right hand, turning it palm-up. "Jean-Luc…Q. We have the same fingerprints."_ _

__The men stared, and seemed oddly distant, or cut-off._ _

__"Did you hear me?" Steward prodded._ _

__Jean-Luc and Q exchanged a glance._ _

__"Except for the fact that yours are larger, exactly the same," Lancet said, her hands on her hips. "And so you can see why we’d like an explanation."_ _

__"We have none to give."_ _

__"Oh, bullshit!"_ _

__Picard stared at this other version of himself, and for the first time considered telling the truth._ _

__"Jean-Luc…" Q warned, recognizing the man’s expression. "There’s no way they would accept it."_ _

__Picard was going to object, when he caught…something from Q that cued him. He still objected, but with a different focus._ _

__"I wasn’t going to say anything, Q. I’m sure it’s more than they could –"_ _

__"What are we, children?" Lancet snapped. "Do you think I don’t recognize my own manipulation techniques? How do you think we bypassed your security, anyway?"_ _

__Q stared at her, then figured it out. "You knew the keyword."_ _

__"Yes. "MONCAPITAINE." I use it myself as my root password. It’s what I used to call my cat."_ _

__"We’re from another universe," Q said. "Parallel to this one."_ _

__Connie blinked. Lancet looked back and forth between the two men. Halkins watched the parking lot._ _

__"You said it," Steward said, looking at Lancet, then back at Q. "I didn’t think you’d actually say it."_ _

__"It’s only the truth," Picard murmured. "And we didn’t mean to come here."_ _

__"You didn’t come here for the generator?" Lancet asked, her expression the same as Q’s when he was truly surprised._ _

__Q rolled his eyes. "Our universe is several centuries along the timeline. Cold fusion has gone out of fashion for everyone in the quadrant."_ _

__"Then…what are you doing here?" Steward’s eyes were wide with confusion, and Q had to reign in the impulse to hold her._ _

__"It was an accident," Picard explained. "And now we just want to get back where we belong."_ _

__"It works, doesn’t it?" Lancet asked, holding up the briefcase. "You’ve got a working cold fusion generator in this thing."_ _

__"Yes."_ _

__"You have to leave it here," Steward said._ _

__"Impossible," Picard told her._ _

__"Things are only impossible until they’re not!" she snapped back._ _

__Q laughed, then looked at Jean-Luc. "We might as well, Jean-Luc."_ _

__"That would mean the worst kind of interference in their –"_ _

__"They’re all going to die, Jean-Luc. What’s worse for them than that?"_ _

__"We know there are other universes where Earth’s existence isn’t good for the worlds around them. Perhaps in this universe it’s those worlds that are meant to be spared."_ _

__Halkins seemed almost to choke on something, then resolutely continued to watch over the asphalt._ _

__"Jean-Luc, I know you want to leave it here."_ _

__"I know you want to too," Steward noted._ _

__"I know I want you to," Lancet put in._ _

__"At least tell us how to retune the ignition sequence on our primary relay matrix," Steward persisted._ _

__"You know that’s your main problem?" Q asked in surprise._ _

__"Of course we know," Lancet said, pushing her hair back angrily. "But we don’t have the time or money for the tests we need to run. Someone’s going to get trigger-happy sometime soon, and we’re not moving fast enough. We can’t even make people believe this is going to work! Everyone is either screaming for their gallon of gas or their pound of flesh."_ _

__"It’s amazing, almost super-Human that you’ve managed to come this far in such a short period of time," Picard observed._ _

__"It doesn’t matter how amazing it is if we all die!"_ _

__"It does matter! The two of you matter! If you know what’s wrong, you can fix it. Just as Q and I…" He turned to look at his lover. "…will overcome the obstacles that stand in our way." His eyes held a vow he didn’t care that the women could see as well. Thank God at least Halkins wasn’t looking at him. "Everything that stands between ourselves and what we want will be overcome."_ _

__"Does ‘everything’ for you two include a nuclear holocaust?" Lancet demanded._ _

__"Oh!" Q rolled his hand over. "Don’t go there."_ _

__"How about half a billion dollars instead?" a quiet baritone inquired._ _

__There was a small pause, during which everyone, even Halkins, wound up looking at Picard._ _

__"There’s that much in our personal account. And you have Q’s root password. It’s yours."_ _

__"Five hundred million," Q agreed. "And you have to get your initial heat ratio below 1-5."_ _

__"Q!"_ _

__"It’s just a little hint."_ _

__"I can’t believe you did that!"_ _

__"Picard, our presence here is only going to make things more difficult for them, surely you see that? Besides, the two of them just saved us. I’m only evening things out a bit."_ _

__"Q…"_ _

__"They’re going to be asked about this; they might even have their funds cut off, their project questioned. If they get their heat ratio down, they’ll be able to show the early stages of energy production. It will give them back some of their credibility."_ _

__"Q." But now it was a resigned statement of the inevitable, and when Q caught Connie’s eye for a wink, she had a hard time not laughing hysterically. Did she and Janet seem this way to other people?_ _

__"One to five…you know, that explains quite a bit," Lancet was mumbling, her eyes over-clouding with equations._ _

__Halkins snapped his fingers and drew his sidearm. "Entry at the west gate."_ _

__"You two have to get out of this room."_ _

__"Below 1-5!" Q yelled out as Lancet handed him the suitcase and Picard fell to his knees to peel the plastic off the transmitter. "Not 1-5 itself."_ _

__"Understood."_ _

__"I wish we could have talked more," Connie told Picard, backing reluctantly out the door._ _

__"As do I," he told her, sparing a second to look up into the eyes that mirrored his own. "But I know that you will succeed."_ _

__"Have that much confidence in yourself, do you?" Lancet asked with a half-grin, half-sneer._ _

__"No…in you," Picard replied, grinning himself as a familiar look melted her gaze._ _

__Then the women left with Halkins in tow, and Q opened the briefcase._ _

__

__Captain," the communications officer announced. "I am receiving an emergency alert and request for beam-out from some illogical coordinates."_ _

__The captain walked quickly, but calmly, to the communications display, watching as his officer threw back several switches and keyed in the matrix for coordinate confirmation._ _

__"I do not recognize this code," the officer, K'Pel, reported, pointing. "But their primary codes conform to the interstellar union."_ _

__"Yes," Captain K’vek agreed. "They are in danger within a pre-warp civilization and wish to be retrieved before violating the Second Law of Jorhan. However, we have no knowledge of the signal’s origin. It would only be logical to erect a forcefield around the transporter before beaming them aboard."_ _

__The first officer agreed, and in short order two near-Vulcanoid men – only their ears were alien -- in dark clothes and surrounded by primitive equipment stood in the middle of the Vulcan transporter pad._ _

__"Live long, and prosper." The Vulcan made the salute with his hands, then raised his eyebrows as the two men returned it. "I am Captain K’vek."_ _

__"And I’m…Jean-Luc…Steward."_ _

__"Quentin Jones."_ _

__"We were traveling in this sector when our ship was caught in a temporal disturbance," Steward said._ _

__"We jury-rigged what we could from the remains of our control room."_ _

__"If you would be so kind as to drop us off at the nearest…transport station on your route…we would be obliged."_ _

__K’vek nodded. "That would only be logical. We have quarters available for you."_ _

__"Vulcan hospitality is renowned throughout this sector," the tall one put in with a smile, "and for good reason."_ _

__"It is satisfactory to hear that our reputation among travelers is positive. I will have your equipment brought to your rooms." He turned to the tall Vulcan women beside him. "This is Aock, my first officer. She will show you to your quarters."_ _

__Picard followed Q off the pad, easily refraining from speaking further. The walls were covered in Vulcan markings, along with switches, knobs, flip-panels, stem-bolt nicks, and access ports._ _

__The walk to their very small rooms was not long. Not long at all._ _

__"You should be able to stay here with an acceptable level of comfort while we make the trip to Astrid V," Aock told them, her hands clasped behind her back. "The facilities are at the end of the hall." She nodded to the chart on the smooth gray wall. "We will be having our evening meal in three hours. You are invited. Do you require anything further?"_ _

__"No, thank you."_ _

__Q shook his head._ _

__She nodded and left._ _

__Picard opened his mouth for the inevitable question, then shut it as Q began to laugh._ _

__It was not a laugh from someone who found something amusing. But was not a polite or ironic or despairing laugh either. It sounded openly celebratory, full of joy, and because of that Picard was almost prepared when Q swooped to him, grabbed him around the waist, and swung him in a full circle before claiming his mouth in a deep, searching kiss._ _

__He kissed back, but had to pull away, just enough to ask, to understand:_ _

__"Q. When is this?"_ _

__"December 14th, Jean-Luc. 1999."_ _

__"What?"_ _

__"We didn’t compensate enough for the temporal shift. We only moved through the universe, not through time."_ _

__"But –"_ _

__"Don’t you see? Don’t you get it, Jean-Luc? We’re in the past. Truly in the past. You don’t exist yet, and I exist very far from here."_ _

__"Then we should –"_ _

__"Do absolutely nothing!" Q’s stare was fierce. "If we do nothing, then we’re safe. Don’t you see?"_ _

__Picard thought a moment, then realized Q’s plan. "But even so, the Continuum must know you’re here."_ _

__"Not if I don’t call attention to myself by using my powers."_ _

__"But that would mean…there are several hundred years that need to pass…before…"_ _

__Q smiled._ _

__"We…we could. Couldn’t we, Q?"_ _

__Q’s smile grew a bit, and the look in his eyes softened._ _

__"We could just live out our lives, here, now," Picard continued, "in our world but not in our world, and be together."_ _

__"There’s no reason we couldn’t. I mean, I could use a power here and there, discreetly, just enough to keep you alive, and me out of trouble. Unless you don’t want –"_ _

__And now Q found himself locked in a kiss, deep, full of love and joy, acceptance and excitement. This time Q drew back, wanting a bit more._ _

__"You’ll do this for me, Jean-Luc?"_ _

__"No. I’ll do this for me, because I’ve never wanted anything more. My God, Q. We can have centuries together. Centuries."_ _

__“It’s still not enough," Q complained. “But I’ll take it."_ _

__"Where shall we go?" Picard asked with a grin, fighting the urge to dance about the room. "Where can we stay out of history’s way?"_ _

__"You mean it," Q said, and his eyes showed that only now was something inside being reached, something warmed that had spent eternity aloof and cold. "You’ll do it."_ _

__Jean-Luc placed his mouth against Q’s, his left hand on Q’s shoulder while the other, softly, slowly, smoothed over his chest, down to his hips, between his legs. "Willingly, gladly, gratefully. After all, what newly married couple don’t deserve a few centuries to be alone together? The work, I’m sure, will be waiting for us both when we…catch up."_ _

__They kissed quite a while this time, then got undressed and kissed some more, all over, then all over again._ _

__Much later, after they’d missed dinner, Picard thought to ask again:_ _

__"Where should we go, Q? We do want to keep from contaminating any timelines."_ _

__"Well, they say you’re safest in your own backyard."_ _

__Picard frowned into the comforting darkness, then swung up on an elbow to look down with astonishment into Q’s sparkling eyes._ _

__"You can’t be serious!"_ _

__

__Sun is shining like A RED RUBber ball!…"_ _

__Picard looked up at the passing Chevy as its radio blared out the tune, grateful at least that its occupants weren’t the usual rap-lovers, then looked over at Q, who was particularly sensual right now, with his flushed, sweaty skin and heaving chest._ _

__"You’re…running faster…Jean-Luc," Q accused. "It’s…not fair."_ _

__"I just felt happy to be alive. You don’t have to keep up with me, you know. It’s not a race."_ _

__Q harrumphed and moved back towards the warehouse gate. It wasn’t, to their surprise, exactly the same warehouse they’d had before, though it looked similar enough. The one they’d rented in the other universe had been destroyed in a fire here…which was parallel in its own way, they supposed._ _

__It didn’t matter, there was a TV room with no sofa, a kitchen full of gadgets, and upstairs…_ _

__Picard smiled, thinking about the room upstairs. He and Q had enjoyed it practically every night since sneaking back to Earth three months ago._ _

__He made a point of catching Q’s eye, then bent over for a final stretch before standing up and raising his arms over his head. Dark eyes followed every movement now._ _

__"You’re asking for it."_ _

__"I should hope so. See you after your shower."_ _

__The one-day-to-be-captain-again walked through the gate into the warehouse, well aware that Q would be double-checking all the locks before following him._ _

__History would never find them here, not in this town that would, in only a few decades’ time, sadly be wiped out in a nuclear explosion. History would not care, not as long as they did nothing more than eat in restaurants and make love in their warehouse. Even passive, Q's powers allowed him to know when they should stay home, and when going about was all right, to know what tourists they shouldn't speak to, and who was safe for a few social drinks and small talk. They’d even thought about joining up for a march or two, secure in getting lost in the crowd._ _

__When they had to leave here, they would go to an island not far from Madagascar, and then after that…there were several possibilities. By the time they neared their own time, they would probably be far from Earth, exploring and preparing to re-enter their lives._ _

__Q had insisted that Picard actually witness as little as possible of the war itself, and Jean-Luc had, grudgingly, agreed. After all, it would be worth it in the end, getting to witness the days after First Contact, when his world would begin to take shape. He would even be able to watch Lily and Cochrane on the news._ _

__Picard stepped into the shower and efficiently cleaned up, thinking about Q’s rushing through his own toilette._ _

__It still made his breath catch, and his heart pound, walking into their bedroom – just a little larger than the original had been – and seeing the bed. Q had made the comforter and curtains green this time, like a forest, with water-blue sheets and carved oak posters stained dark. The steps felt the same climbing up, and the mattress gave and contoured just as the other had._ _

__And where was Q, damnit? His body felt so empty, as empty as his life had been before Q had filled it._ _

__A train went by without blowing its horn. The rumble shook the bed slightly._ _

__The door opened. Q walked in naked and smiled at the man’s uncovered body._ _

__"One day," Q said as he came up the steps and settled down beside his husband – they’d gotten married in Hawaii, "I’ll be able to hold out on you, you know, tease you when you want me this bad."_ _

__"Is that something I’m supposed to look forward to?"_ _

__Q shrugged, already running his hands over Picard’s chest. "It still embarrasses me a little, that you could tell me to suck you off in front of a crowd and I’d do it."_ _

__"I would never tell you that. Besides, I’d do the same if you asked."_ _

__"No you wouldn’t…and neither would I, I suppose. We’d just start laughing before we got anywhere, and then they’d come and arrest us."_ _

__They looked at each other, remembering those awful moments in the limo when they’d thought they were under arrest, thinking of what they’d wanted then, of what they’d somehow been given now._ _

__"Ohhhhh," Jean-Luc moaned, spreading his legs. "Be inside me. Let me hold you safely inside."_ _

__Q reached for the lubricant – they kept several tubes of the stuff scattered all around their home. It weren’t as if they ever had guests – and slicked himself up quickly. He gently slipped a finger inside Jean-Luc and stretched him. They were able to rush this part now a bit, but they never skipped it, not in fear of clinics, but because the care they took in each other was as good as the sex._ _

___Well,_ Q thought, _almost as good.__ _

__"Q, Jean-Luc and Captain Jones…"_ _

__Q shuddered. How had Picard figured out just what this story meant to him? The equivalent, nothing less, of a Q lap-dance._ _

__"Tell me about the first time Jean-Luc was inside Quentin."_ _

__"Oh, Jean-Luc…" The coherence required for his husband’s request was overwhelming._ _

__"Tell me. Please."_ _

__Q kissed him, needing the strength of it. There was a great chance he wouldn’t be able to keep from coming first if he had to think about this. Perhaps he should suck Jean-Luc off before –"_ _

__"Q…please. Tell me."_ _

__"He’d already had Quentin take him several times, the first time simply moving on top of him when Quentin thought he was going to suck him. He even…oh, you’re so hot inside. I could come just from having my fingers inside you."_ _

__Picard canted his hips. "I’m ready for you, Q."_ _

__"Another moment, just…Quentin kept asking for it, but Jean-Luc knew he was afraid of the pain, of what it would mean. It was just seeing Jean-Luc come so hard that made him want it. And he wanted to be as close as he could to him by then. They'd fallen so hard for each other."_ _

__"Now, Q!"_ _

__Q sighed in relief and pleasure and withdrew his fingers. The next time Picard took him, he’d ask for Shakespearean sonnets._ _

__Jean-Luc felt the blunt head softly settle against his opening, and spread his legs wider, almost unbearably empty. He almost came. Only Q’s words kept him grounded._ _

__"In the end, Jean-Luc agreed to be inside him only if Quentin swore to warn him the second it hurt, and then…" Q slipped inside, moaning as he moved along the caramel heat, being drawn in, secured, comforted down to the last warm place of his consciousness. "…then they laid down on the bed, and Jean-Luc…put pillows under Quentin’s hips, and spent a good ten minutes stretching him and putting lube…inside."_ _

__"Couldn’t bear…the thought of…hurting him, eh…Q?" Picard pushed against the pressure in his body, and finally felt Q all the way inside, his body fitting him exactly, two halves of the perfect whole. This was his place, his time, his existence, his universe. "Did Jones feel this, Q? Did he feel that love was fucking him?"_ _

__Q gasped and rocked into him, pulled back, and thrust hard, deep inside. Jean-Luc reeled from the pleasure, his head sunk deeply back, drowning in the water-blue pillow._ _

__"He felt…" Q faltered, recovered, continued. "…exposed, opened, more naked than a fetus…and when he looked back over his shoulder to see a man fucking him…he almost rejected the possibility of it."_ _

__Picard refused to allow Q’s rhythm to falter again. He had no fear that Jones didn’t get over his bad moment. A sea captain and a model, two women working on cold fusion, two giant storks with cigars – what did it matter? He put a hand on Q’s hip, urging him inside, harder and faster. "He knew he was loved," he gasped out._ _

__"Yes." Q laughed, the difficult part over, and not as difficult as he’d thought after all. He should have known Jean-Luc would understand. "Yes, after the first couple of…minutes…oh, Jean-Luc…he wanted…more."_ _

__"Yes. More, Q. More of you. Deep inside me. Give me all that you are. I want you inside me more, Q."_ _

__Q screamed. Jean-Luc knew he had only a moment before they both couldn’t hold back, and for that moment he strained to make it even more perfect, more wonderful._ _

__And then he just relaxed, in a way he had never relaxed before. He had nothing to fear. He loved and he was loved, whether swimming in Q’s green-blue bed or thrusting into Q as his lover bent over the kitchen sink, in this century or the next, in this world or the next. He’d been given all he wanted, and more, and could give all he was, and more._ _

__"It’s all right, Q," he whispered. "Come inside me, and we’ll…rest and…do it…again."_ _

__Q seemed slightly lost, however, and Picard knew it would take the entity longer – having been alone so much longer – to understand._ _

__And so he smiled, and grabbed Q tight, and wrapped his legs around his husband’s back, and emerged into an ecstasy a little bit greater than he had ever felt before. And he made sure to scream out Q’s name and continue, breathlessly, to beg for more yet again._ _

__After all, he knew even as Q shared himself once more that he’d get it._ _


End file.
